Blue and Yellow and Red
by Jazzola
Summary: A Romanian woman's savage murder means a lot more to Gene than anyone would have believed. As the Manc Lion mourns his friend, he is determined to find her killer. But when the killer knows where to go to keep himself hidden, it'll be hard. Galex.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I know, how naughty am I, starting another story... well, I had this idea again when throwing my ball around in my room, and it wouldn't go away. It was going to be a Life on Mars fanfic, but then the Galex bug and snow appeared (SNOW DAY! =D) and I decided to make it A2A instead. Ah well... and I'm sorry for the uneven spacing, I wrote it on a really rubbish word processor so it's a bit ugly... hopefully you can skate over that. Please enjoy! Jazzola :)

* * *

The woman's lifeless eyes stare soullessly at the ceiling of the corner shop, their warm nut brown filmed over with a creamy texture, glazed in death. The eyes are the only part of her body that marks her out as a human being; the ugly, vivid mutilations covering her body and the blood coating her lily-coloured skin defile her whole body, almost making it something unreal, something too horrific to be true. Her work-toughened skin, where visible, tells of a long, hard life, the slightly darker skin indicating a foreign birth; her clothing is simple, shredded in places, blood soaking through the formerly pale colours to create crimson rags for the woman to wear. Her cloth handbag lies redundant on the floor next to her, the pool of sombre scarlet beneath it beginning to soak through the material, staining the documents within. All of this is surrounded by racks of produce, such a normal, everyday scene that it compounds the sense of disjointment; for something so harrowing to take place in somewhere so normal is almost unthinkable.

"Lovely," DS Ray Carling mutters, taking a hefty drag on his cigarette to hide the shake of his hands. Behind him, DC Chris Skelton takes one look at the scene and turns away to throw up over the broccoli.

"Twonk," Ray sighs, but he's not feeling so good himself and so hands over to plod to make his way back to the station. The initial reports had been nothing to bother Gene and Alex over- they were up to their eyeballs solving an earlier murder- but the magnitude, savageness, blind terror of this defies all belief. This woman had either done something very, very bad to deserve this, or had been one of the unluckiest people in the history of London, Ray thinks as he motions for the crime scene to be cordoned off and makes his way into the fresh air, waiting for the shriek of the Quattro's tyres to mark his superiors' arrival.

It doesn't take long for the scarlet blur to round the corner and skid to a halt, Alex slightly pale inside and Gene's cheeks pink-tinged from concentrating on his driving. The doors are yanked open and Gene steps out, a long, suit-covered leg crunching down onto the damp tarmac beneath, the familiar crocodile boots sliding a little on its wet texture as Gene puts his weight onto the limb and stands up, his face creased as he makes his way towards the shop.

"It's not nice, Guv. Chris's over in the corner there shakin', 'e was sick all over the veg," Ray says scathingly as his Guv comes towards him, his expression asking for information. Gene spares a look towards the shop, wrinking his nose at the penetrating, none too pleasant smell of fresh vomit and coagulating blood. Next to him, Alex groans and covers her nose and mouth with her hand, wishing she could bolt back to the Quattro.

"Bolly, act yer age, yer a DI," Gene says cockily, glancing back at Alex with his face showing teasing and a little annoyance but his bright blue eyes a contrast of concern. Alex gives him a hard look and he turns away, pretending not to have seen it to rile her further. Their relationship is a constant game of cat and mouse, and although neither would admit it, they enjoy it.

"Let's go and have a look at the scene of a tragic death then, shall we, Gene?"

Gene gives her a cool look and slips inside. Alex sighs, left outside to follow suit.

_He wins that round, then._

The smell only really hits when they're inside the shop; even Gene turns away, his hand clapping over his face, as they near the fresh corpse. Alex clutches his shoulder for support as they make their way a little closer, past the cordon, until Gene's toes are an inch away from the puddle of blood coming from the woman's body and Alex stops him so as not to contaminate the crime scene.

"Do we have an ID?" Alex asks a nearby officer, crouching as close as her stomach allows her to the body. The officer shakes his head, moving away as Gene bends to gently pick the cloth bag up, opening the flimsy clasp and pulling out a wad of documents, turning them over in his fingers and unfolding them to take a look at the writing.

"What are they?" Alex asks from behind her palm, moving away from the body to take a look. The stench inside the shop is beginning to approach being unbearable; Alex feels relief and something else fluttering in her chest as she puts her face as close to Gene's body as she dares and breathes in a welcome, different scent, whisky and cigarettes and that quintessentially Gene "man-stink". Gene looks at her quizzically and she pretends to be looking at the documents, not noticing the tiny smile that quirks over his lips as he looks back as well.

"I can't read them, they're too blood-stained," Alex sighs, slipping them from Gene's fingers and using a tissue from her pocket to wipe some of the scarlet away, suppressing a retch as the blood weaves its way onto her fingers and sneaks into the crevices of her skin, creating tiny red rivers on her flesh. Gene yanks a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to her with a mutter of "don't worry, Bolls, it's clean", and Alex murmurs a thank-you back and cleans the sombre liquid off, her stomach still firmly upside-down but the feeling of nausea beginning to die down.

As she draws the handkerchief across the paper and the scarlet dye begins to come off, a word comes into focus on the topmost sheet; Alex squints down at it, her eyes finally managing to make it out.

"Immigration. She's foreign, then."

Her fingers make their way down the sheet, smearing away as they go.

"Romania... she's Romanian. Came across six months ago, according to this."

"As fascinating as this is, Bolly, 'ave you got a name yet?" Gene asks irritably, feeling a little sickness nest in the pit of his own stomach as his eyes stray to the terrible sight on the floor in front of him. Alex murmurs something about Gene going and shoving something up a certain orifice and carries on reading, her eyes decoding the black ink through the red stains, eventually finding an identity and a picture.

"Adriana Mironescu."

Holding the paper up, she shows him the now-visible picture of the woman now lying dead before them; in the picture, she is a handsome woman, her skin tired and worn but her eyes glittering with life, stern lines around her face but a softening around the eye making her a welcoming person. Gene stiffens as he looks at it; a deep well of recognition begins to stir.

"Born in Romania, lived in Manchester for several years before going back, came to London six months ago... Gene, are you OK?"

Gene sways as he looks once again down at the corpse in front of him; his face pales, his expression becoming one of horror, shock, complete and utter devastation.

"Ada..."

And the world blurs as it hits him with the force of a murderous hurricane; Alex grabs him as he steadies himself on the rack of produce next to him, yelling for Ray to help her, but Gene barely hears.

A new, heavily-accented voice has filled his ears, calling out to him, a warm voice with a tiny Mancunian hint underneath the Romanian tones.

"Gene? Gene? Help me, Gene... help me!"

But Ada Mironescu is far beyond help, and everyone can see that. Gene's knees weaken beneath him as Ray takes the brunt of his DCI's weight, talking urgently to him, Alex trying to steady him as they pull him away from Ada's body.

"No... no... gerroff me!"

Gene struggles against his officers, trying to get back to Ada, refusing to believe it's true, all the evidence of his senses, the terrible realisation of what has happened...

"Ada..."

And then the world fades as Gene Hunt blacks out, falling back onto the floor, his last word a whisper in the deathly scented air.

* * *

It had all begun when Mrs Hunt's job was extended by two hours. Before, she had been able to finish work and be down at the family house to receive her two sons; now they would have to be left there on their own for two hours after school, unless someone was there to look after them. Mrs Hunt loved her sons, but she knew that Gene was often reckless and Stu would follow him whatever he chose to do, and she didn't want to come back home to find the house in ruins and her sons trapped beneath the rubble. Although the family didn't have much money to spare, Mrs Hunt began looking round for a babysitter.

Ada Mironescu and her family had moved over from Romania two years previously. In those two years, Ada had grown into a fine, responsible child of ten, with near-perfect English only marred by her strong Romanian accent. She didn't have any formal schooling, lack of money meaning that instead she had to learn from her father after he finished his job in the factory every night, being taught Romanian and reading and mathematics. The strength of Ada's personality was shown in her firm stance and her strong expression, the fierce pride of a girl who has been through hardship and come out the other side; that and the poverty that Ada and her family lived in. The only things they had in plenty were the Romanian books that they had carried over the years, sold at huge discounts but a much-needed pleasure for the Mironescus, Ada especially; food was scarce, and so Ada agreed to babysitting for a small wage readily.

It was the first Monday of the agreement. Ada had made her way over to the Hunts' house about ten minutes before Gene and Stu were due back, letting herself in with the key Mrs Hunt had given her and going through the place to explore it. A homely place, but somehow a little miserable, as though bad things had happened to the occupants; Ada stiffened at the sight of the bloodstained rug next to the double bed in the main bedroom, her curiosity having surpassing her courtesy to lead her in there, and hurried back down the stairs.

The clock above the oven told her that Gene and Stu would be here in a matter of seconds. Positioning herself at the gate, she folded her arms and hoped to look strict, someone not to be messed with. Deciding at the last moment that that was the wrong impression to give, Ada unfolded her arms and instead leaned against the gate, trying to appear casual and friendly.

The two boys came into view as soon as she had. A messy-haired, broad-shouldered boy walked in front, his blond hair flopping over his face unless he tucked it back viciously, ignoring the pain that came with the movement. His legs were bruised, but grey socks falling around his ankles obscured some of the damage. His clothes were muddy and a little bedraggled, but he had a confident air about him, the persona of a leader. Ada liked him almost instantly.

The little child behind him was a smaller version of his brother, only minus the smooth blond hair and plus wild curls that flew about his skull. His little legs struggled to keep up with the older child's swagger, but every so often his brother would stop to allow the little boy to catch up, for which he was grateful. He didn't have the self-assured aura that Gene oozed around him, but still walked with a little infantile confidence.

Gene's eyes found the girl waiting for them outside their house, narrowing slightly as they took her in. A tall girl, her skin slightly browned and her thick dark hair falling around her features, at first she struck a firm stance; the work-hardened skin around her fingers gave her a slightly rough impression, but the smile in her eyes and the warmth within the nut brown irises told of a kindred soul beneath. Her shapeless clothing served little purpose but to cover her, but Gene, being five, wasn't looking at her body; his attention was on her expression, and the broad smile that curved over her even lips as they approached.

"Gene and Stu?"

The Romanian accent was laced through her words, bringing them out dripping with it, but Gene didn't care; if anything, the strange phrasing made him curious.

"Ada Mironescu. I'm Gene Hunt, this is my brother Stu."

Despite his young age, Gene introduced himself formally, holding out a hand for the girl to shake. Deciding that she liked his forthright approach, Ada reached out to shake, feeling his warm skin in her coarse palm. Another thing that impressed her was the way he'd managed to pronounce her surname correctly; she was so used to people going "Mirror what?" that she rarely introduced her full name.

"Glad to meet you. Your mother hired me to look after you for two hours after school while she works."

This the boys knew, but for the sake of politeness Ada stated her purpose. Gene nodded, beginning to steer Stu inside and beckoning for Ada to follow. Guessing it might be best not to let on that she'd already had a sneaky peek around the house, Ada walked after him, her eyes once again exploring the house, finding again the air of sadness but this time shrugging it off and finding herself in the small living room. Sitting down on the sofa, she watched Gene taking Stu's coat off for him and hang it up next to his own, sitting down next to Ada when he was done.

"Where've you come from?"

It was a direct question; Gene wasn't one for beating around the bush, and Ada could see this.

"Romania, if you mean my accent. I've lived here for two years."

Gene cocked his head, curiosity coming through.

"What's it like in Romania?"

Ada's eyes grew a little distant.

"Very nice. Lots of animals, and lots of poor people, but if you could work, like my dad, then it was nice. We had a nice house and my mother had a son."

"Had?"

"That's why we came here... his name was Mihai. He said that there was more work and a better life in England, so he came here. My mother said we should come too, but my father didn't want to leave Romania. Eventually, we did come, but we've never found him."

Gene's face showed sympathy.

"Are you ever goin' to find 'im?"

Ada shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe one day. My mother is searching all the time, but my father says that Mihai has to look as well, for us to find him."

Gene cocked his head again, thinking. Ada watched him, her own curiosity showing in her chocolate gaze.

"Maybe one day, when I'm a policeman, I'll be able to find 'im fer you. I can question people an' look in dustbins an' stuff like that. Yer can find people 'oo seem ter 'ave disappeared, an' my team could 'elp me."

Ada smiled at his young fantasy.

"Maybe."

And that was it. They were off, talking about anything and everything, from parents (to which Gene contributed very little) to Manchester (of which Ada didn't know much) to life in general and the world around them. Gene found Ada an engaging person, an interesting character, someone who he could talk properly to; Ada, in turn, thought Gene was mature for his age and a great conversation, a challenge to prove wrong and an excellent source of entertainment.

Secretly, both were disappointed when the doorbell rang and Mrs Hunt came in, hiding a strawberry bruise on her cheek from Ada and paying her for her help. Gene was almost tempted to sneak out with her and run off, into her world of Romanian folk tales and history, but his mother's promise of chips for tea stopped him.

All the same, he blessed the woman who had extended his mother's work hours that night.

* * *

The world blurs as Gene opens his eyes, trying to take in the room he is in. By his side sits his DI, pressing the heel of her hand to his forehead, smiling when she sees that his eyes are open but remembering that she has to tell him once again the dreadful news.

"Can you hear me, Gene?"

He gives one affirmatory nod, his irises coming to rest on Alex's unclear face, blinking as they try to clear the haze of sleep from their sheen. Alex reaches down to take his hand in hers, something she only does when they are in private and Gene really needs it; she feels his fingers twitch beneath her skin, his confusion coming through.

"Wha' 'appened?" he croaks, trying to remember something, anything, that happened to put him in this position. Alex frowns. _Don't tell him yet, give him some time to wake up first or he'll black out again._

"You fainted, Guv."

Her tone gives away the faintest minimum possible. Gene stares up at her, trying to work it out without the help of his memories.

"Why?"

Alex reaches out to stop him sitting up, pressing her hand firmly against his shoulder as he pushes his body into a sitting position.

"Stay lying down."

Although still confused, Gene does as she says, watching her as she runs a hand over her forehead and looks down at him again, something like sadness in her eyes.

The brown flecks re-awaken some squashed memory, battered and abused but healing fast, coming to the forefront of his mind as it regenerates... sightless eyes dyed with red liquid, festering above coagulating blood, rips in the sheen of a woman's skin rendering her unrecognisable... a dead body, the stench of murder and tragedy in the air...

Gene has to stop himself from crying out as it comes back to him.

Ada is dead.


	2. Chapter 2

"We were best friends," is all Alex gets out of Gene before he insists he drives home, embarrassed and shocked at having fainted in front of his officers but his main concern the piercing pain in his heart, the sucking of his happiness into the void that Ada Mironescu has left behind. Alex demands that he let her drive, snatching the keys from Gene's hand as he weakly protests and pulling him out of the station with her, adding that she'll stay until she knows Gene is steady on his feet again.

"We don't want you collapsing and having an accident when there's nobody to stay with you," she says firmly as the Quattro makes its way towards Gene's house at a much steadier pace than it's used to. Gene, sitting in the passenger seat, catches a glimpse of himself in the wing mirror; his normally well-coloured face as white as milk, his clothing rumpled and his eyes swerving round with a haunted look deep in their silver-blue depths. Ada's face returns to his mind, and he has to swallow stinging bile quickly to prevent throwing up all over the car and his DI.

Following his brief directions, Alex pulls up outside a small suburban house, greeted with an overgrown garden and a rusty garden gate, squeaking its protest as she pushes it open and pulls Gene into the house with her, watching his step carefully as he retreats to the kitchen and opens a cupboard, taking out a full bottle of whisky.

"Don't get drunk, Gene. That's not going to help."

Taking the whisky from his grasp, Alex steps back smartly from his fingers as they grab for it.

"Give that HERE, Alex!"

Gene startles even himself with his outburst; Alex gives a little squeak and backs into a corner, her eyes wide, her arms ready to shield herself. Gene stops, his own eyes beginning to glitter, frozen in a ridiculous cherade with his DI.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Bolls..."

Shaking, Gene drops into a chair, hiding his head in his hands, not prepared for feeling Alex's soft hands on his back, easing him back up so that she could see his face. Gene looks awful, drawn and haggard, pain festering in his eyes and in the careworn lines of his face. Alex's heart melts in sympathy, shock at his mourning state leaping into her brain as she bends and hugs him hard, pressing his head into her shoulder, only slightly surprised at the feel of salt tears beginning to soak through onto her skin, warm and sorrowful.

"Let it out," she whispers to him as he shakes with suppressed sobs, her fingers stroking along his back, her lips pressed to the top of his head as long-due tears spill from her DCI's brilliant eyes, his mourning for his friend, the last real link to Manchester he had left, one of the few genuine friends he had ever had, the wonderful woman who had captured him completely even at the age of five.

Gene sobs until there is no more energy left in him, no more liquid from his reddened eyes; it is only when he is completely and utterly exhausted that he stops. Alex, not prepared to leave him on his own, stoops and picks him up, surprising herself at her strength, and gently carries him back out to the Quattro, covering him with his coat in the back of the car and driving slowly and carefully back to her flat, recruiting Luigi's help with taking the unconscious Gene up to her flat and depositing him on her bed, tucking him in like a mother would her child; for the briefest of seconds her heart aches for Molly, but she knows that she cannot let herself mourn her lost daughter too much and concentrates on the matter in hand. Gene stirs fitfully under her hand as she sweeps his hair from his face; hoping that he can find some relief in the bliss of sleep, Alex presses the lightest of kisses to his forehead and quietly makes her way out of the room.

* * *

The boiling hot summer of 1942 was baking the streets and greens of Manchester as a young blond-haired boy flopped down in the shade of a large oak tree, green leaves in their fullest colour, a tall girl with dark hair and a blossoming, womanly figure sliding down onto her back next to him, laughing at him as he wiped sweat from his forehead and leaned back against the tree trunk.

"It's not that hot, Gene!"

Gene wass too hot to think of a retort; instead he took a gulp of the bottle of water from his schoolbag, grinning as Ada rolled onto her back and tried to snatch it from him.

"Nuh-uh. Not until yer admit that it's too 'ot an' yer need a drink from the Gene Genie."

He'd only recently made that up, and Ada rolled her eyes at the title, still fighting to get the drink off her friend.

"The Gene Genie... what a silly... ow!"

Startled, Gene pulled Ada away from the site of her discomfort, finding that she'd rolled onto a packet of matches discarded in the dry grass. Picking it up, he turned the little container over in his fingers and opened it, finding a full compliment of matches nestled within. Why anyone would be carrying matches in the summer, when the sun was practically enough to set anything on fire, evaded Gene and Ada, but it was clearly recent and clearly dry, so it was good enough for them.

Ada smiled as something her mother had said to her one time came back to her.

"Gene, can I have one of your hairs?"

Gene, surprised at the sudden request, stared at the girl crouched on her haunches next to him.

"Why?"

"My mother said that if you light a match and put a hair on top of it, something weird happens, and she wouldn't say but I want to find out."

Gene, still looking a little sceptical, reached up to ease a hair from his scalp, wincing as it came out and handing it to Ada, who put the matches down to get a better hold on the golden strand. It glimmered in the sun as she held it up to examine it, and Gene looked grumpy as he took a match out and struck it on the packet, creating a little orange flame.

"This better be good, tha' stings."

Ada giggled at him and held the long, straight hair over the flame as he held it up, watching it eagerly for something to happen.

"Ooh!" she squealed as it curled around itself as though it was retreating from the flame, wrapping itself round in corkscrew curls, seemingly having a life of its own. Gene stared at it, puzzled but in awe of what had happened; it's not every day that your hair comes to life and seems to curl up of its own accord. Hair was dead, as his mother had firmly told him when she'd brushed it into submission for a friend's wedding. How did it do that?

"OI! YOU TWO!"

The pair jumped violently as a firm voice boomed through the dusty air, leaping up, dropping the hair and the match onto the shrivelled grass. The match, kept aflame by the hot conditions and short fall to reach the floor, flamed up again on the ground, smoking as the grass around it caught fire.

"FIRE!" the man coming towards them yelped, stopping short of Gene and Ada, his buttons of his police uniform and the rivers of sweat on his face glistening as he took a step backwards. Gene and Ada looked down in unison, seeing the flames beginning to lick at the ground around them, the fire spreading. Ada squealed, running from the scene of the crime; Gene, resourceful and quick-thinking as always, remembered the advice from fellow children for if you set something on fire: "Take your jacket or jumper off and smother the fire with it."

Grabbing his schoolbag from under the tree's branches, Gene advanced on the crackling tongues feeding on the dry ground, throwing it on top and holding it there, watching with some satisfaction as the fire spluttered and died, its last throes before death being a small column of smoke.

Gene sat on top of the bag, stunned by what had just happened, until a sharp pain in his right hand made him look down. The fingers of his hand were red and sore, beginning to ache; in his haste to put the fire out, he'd ignored the flames meeting his body.

"Bleedin' 'ellfire!" he muttered, bringing into employment more language he would not have used in front of his mother as he carefully examined his swollen fingers, pulling the schoolbag up with his good hand to reveal its charred front. The police officer headed towards the blond boy crouched in the shade, his eyes wide as Gene stood up, seemingly unscathed save for his scorched hand, and turned to his friend to make sure she was OK.

"What the bloody 'ell do you two think yer were doin', playin' wi' matches? Didn't yer mothers warn yer about the dangers o' that?" the man asked angrily, bearing down on Gene as the boy tore his gaze from Ada and looked round at the officer. The petulance in the man's eyes sparked something in the young Gene, and he put his hands on his hips, facing the officer.

"Yer were the one 'oo scared Ada so she dropped the match!" he returned, his brilliant eyes narrowed to slits. The officer faltered, somewhat taken aback by the force of Gene's retort. Gene, seeing this, soldiered on. "If yer 'adn't come an' scared 'er, she wouldn' 'ave dropped it! Besides, I put it out anyway, no 'arm done." He motioned to the tiny patch of blackened grass by his feet; it was certainly nothing to worry about.

The officer, although his pride hissed that he should give the boy a cuff for his cheek, decided to instead stalk off. Ada grinned at his retreating back.

"Well said, Gene Genie!" she laughed, doing something like a little dance. Gene, beaming easily as much as his friend, had forgotten about the burns to his hands until Ada grabbed them and he hissed with pain, yanking his hand from her grasp.

"Oh gosh, sorry, Gene!"

Gene cradled his singed fingers in his good hand, frowning down at them.

"'S nothin'."

Ada, giggling at his familiar stubbornness, led the way out of the green and towards Gene's house, glancing back at the matches as they left. Gene, following her line of sight, also remembered the cause of the whole thing, paused and turned back to pick it up and drop it in a bin.

"What was that for?" Ada asked, confused, watching as Gene jogged towards her and began the route back. His puzzled look told her that his intuition, so often right, had picked up on something she'd missed.

"So that someone else doesn' come along an' burn themselves or somethin'."

Ada, a little surprised, closed her mouth and walked after her friend, a small smile growing on her wide lips.

And thus Gene Hunt, for the first time, practised the noble art of danger prevention.

* * *

"Did she have any relatives?" Alex asks gently, her eyes on Gene, sympathy in their porcelain depths as he frowns into his mug of tea, clasped in his fingers as he sits on Alex's striped sofa. She can tell he's mourning just by looking at his face; the pale sheen of his skin and the haunted look in his eyes screams of sorrow and loss. Despite his saddened state, there's something strangely attractive about him being in her flat, something that Alex likes; trying to ignore her feelings, she watches him, trying not to intrude, about to prompt him when he speaks.

"She 'ad a brother that 'er parents tried ter find, 'e came to England before they did an' they never found 'im. Mihai Mironescu- dunno if we'll find 'im, don't even know 'is date o' birth."

"What about children? Are her parents still alive?"

"'Er parents are up in Manchester. No children, she married but didn' 'ave kids, couldn'."

A shard of ice rips through his chest as he remembers talking to her about it.

_"My husband's angry with me, he thinks that I should be able to have children, but I don't know why I can't... Do you know why, Gene?"_

_"No idea, Ada. Same fer me an' the missus. We end up blamin' each other over it, so we stopped tryin'. Maybe if yer just tell 'im yer want ter stop tryin', it's better."_

Gulping back a lump from his throat, Gene focuses back on the mug of now lukewarm tea, taking a sip to wet his sandy mouth. It doesn't help much, but it brings his voice back as Alex waits, her eyes still on him.

"Just parents an' 'er brother, if 'e's alive."

Alex reaches over to rub a soothing hand over the back of his hand, pressing her lips to his cheek in what she hopes he will interpret as a show of affection and help rather than romance; he gives her a grateful look and stands up, putting the mug down, thankful for his legs holding out underneath him.

"I'll get off back to me own 'ouse, stop bein' a nuisance 'ere."

Alex stares at him.

"You've got to be joking, Guv. One, you are not being a nuisance in any way, shape or form staying here. Two, you're not being left on your own until I'm sure you'll be OK and you won't start drinking yourself into oblivion as soon as I've left. Three, Luigi is just downstairs and enquires once an hour as to how you are. Four, you're needed at CID, since you're the only source of information we've got on Adriana-"

"Ada."

"-on Ada. Sorry."

Gene inclines his head to show that she's forgiven, slowly sitting down again. His suit is getting more and more bedraggled by the minute; Alex doesn't help matters by reaching over to hug him.

"I'll get Luigi to keep an eye on you while I go and get you a clean suit, then we'll go over to CID and find out some more about Ada, try and locate Mihai. Is that OK with you?"

Gene nods, not being able to summon up the energy to have an argument over her treating him like an invalid, although quietly he's endeared by it, almost touched by her concern about him. For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to block out all light, just hearing Alex ringing Luigi downstairs and the clatter of the door opening and Luigi hurrying in before Alex presses a kiss to the crown of his head and murmurs that she'll be back soon. Trying to hide the fact that he doesn't want her to leave and failing, Gene nods at her and gives Luigi a tremulous smile as the bar owner sits down opposite him and scrutinises him, seeing a man worn down by the last day, his fire gone.

"Senor Hunt, I know that the lovely Senorina has said no wine, but I think is best otherwise. I bring you some, yes?"

Gene nods, looking up, grateful but trying to hide it as Luigi gives him a knowing look and goes into the kitchen, breaking open a bottle of red wine and pouring two glasses, passing one to Gene as he sits again and taking a sip himself.

"Now then. Senorina Drake tells me you have lost a friend. Is this right?"

Gene nods again, not wanting to use his cracked voice. Luigi averts his eyes, gathering his thoughts; he has dealt with many people who have lost friends or family, but Gene Hunt is not the sort of person who you really expect to grieve so deeply for someone. Then again. Luigi knows that those who have the least people that they let in and confide in, trust, mourn those people passing much more than others would. From the sounds of it, Gene has lost someone very dear to him, in the worst possible way- a murder on his own patch. The poor man must feel awful.

"Tell me about them."

Gene looks up, confused, his eyes finding Luigi's earnest face as the Italian takes a sip of wine, waiting quietly.

"Why?"

"Because that way, Senor Hunt, they live on, they are still here. My wife, she lose her mama in an accident many years ago, but when she tells story about her, is like she is still with us, God forbid."

Gene cracks a small smile.

"Where did they come from? How long did you know them? What were they like?"

Luigi watches as Gene leans back, his eyes finding the ceiling, working their way round the swirls of paint as he begins to talk.

"'Er name was Ada Mironescu. She came from Romania, moved over 'ere when she was eight, wi' 'er family- well, 'er parents. We're still tryin' to find 'er brother, 'ave been ever since they came 'ere, he came to Britain before they did. I've known 'er since I was five. Mam 'ired 'er for babysittin', she came round an' we became friends. Don' see 'ow this is 'elpin', Luigi."

"It will, it will," Luigi assures him. "Keep talking, tell me more."

And he does. Luigi listens, enthralled by Gene talking about days of walking around Manchester together, pranks they played on other kids in the neighbourhood, talking about anything and everything, some examples of childhood innocence making Luigi smile, others making him splutter with laughter as he imagines the young Gene and the girl five years his senior, with her broad smile and sparkling nut brown eyes, tall willowy body and work-roughened hands, their friendship strengthened by the experiences they share.

Just as he had promised, as he speaks Gene feels Ada's presence returning, her sunny personality and the laugh so infectious and happy even Satan would have smiled along. It's almost as though she is returned from the dead just by him talking about her; for the twenty minutes while Alex fetches the suit from Gene's house, Ada lives again in Gene, resurrected by his memories. Luigi beams as Gene smiles in memory, his face still haggard but his sense of self beginning to return; the Italian almost expects him to jump up and start yelling that they need to catch the bastard. But Gene is too caught up in memories to move, and barely even notices that Alex has come back in.

"Carry on," Luigi says quietly as Alex leans against the doorpost, her eyes meeting his for a second and relief flooding through her as she sees the rejuvenation in his irises, the lines beginning to soften around his drawn face. Gene picks up where he left off, talking about anything and everything, expressions flitting across his face as he delves into memories so long shut off that he'd wondered if he'd still be able to find them. Alex, smiling with relief, notices the empty wine glass in his hand and the half-full bottle on the table and frowns at Luigi, but is too happy at the change in Gene's demeanour to tell him off.

Gene gradually begins to peter out, Ada's presence vanishing from his mind; he feels a little sad as he comes to the end, but the sorrow is tempered by the knowledge that Ada isn't lost to him, not completely. She will always be there in his mind, in his memories, and that is enough for him. Alex thanks Luigi for his time, a little surprised when he tells her that he's the happiest he's been in a long time and almost skips down the stairs on his way back to the bar and the waiting Mrs Luigi, a broad beam on his face. Going back into the flat, she notices that Gene has tucked the wine bottle behind the sofa and hidden his wine glass next to it; with a stab of amusement, she raises both and looks at him, eyebrows raised humourously.

"Shall we have a drink, Gene?"

He smiles, a tiny laugh escaping.

A corner of his mind whispers, _Ada would have really liked her._

* * *

A/N: The hair above a match thing does work; I tried it with a friend on a sleepover whilst watching Lord of the Rings and being pestered by her springer spaniel. What a great evening XD I hope this is still up to standard, and more Galex soon, I promise! Massive thanks to all my reviewers, especially TimeladyoftheHunt- I like this fic too :D Please remember to drop a review! Jazzola :D Oh, one more thing- for some reason, writing to Christmas music makes me so happy... don't ask me, but I'm on top of the world right now, despite feeling ill AND having to sing a solo tomorrow at a concert through a cold. Ah well!


	3. Chapter 3

"I suppose details of her family would be a good place to start. We need to get someone from Manchester CID to act as liaison officer; have you got any contacts left who would be suitable?"

Gene shakes his head firmly.

"If someone 'as ter tell 'em they've lost Ada, it'll be me, Bolly. They know me."

Alex nods, a glimmer of her psychology training coming back to her: _"Relatives often take news such as death better if it is delivered by someone they have known previously... it can't soften the long-term blow, but it helps for the time when they are told, gives them something to hold onto when the rug is pulled from beneath them."_

"You sure Manchester won't hold too many memories, Gene? We have to think of you as well."

Gene shakes his head.

"I grew up there, Bolls, jus' because it was Ada's home doesn't mean I'll collapse in a puddle o' my own bloody tears the second I step onto Mancunian soil. Or concrete, more likely."

Alex smiles gently.

"How sure are you that you want to head this investigation, Gene?"

One look from his hardened eyes, swarming with grief but glistening with determination, the need to find his best friend's killer, tells her exactly how sure he is. Alex looks away quietly, seeing Gene ducking his head in the corner of her sight, not used to letting his emotions be displayed that much.

"We'll set off in the morning, then. Get some sleep, you'll insist you're driving so you'll need to be fully rested. What are their names? Full names, not just the Mironescus."

Gene thinks for a second.

"Helga an' Teo Mironescu. Their English isn' very good, they'll probably need a translator."

"But then they wouldn't have the benefit of having someone they know deliver the news, if it came through a stranger. No, Gene, they'll understand enough if you just tell them."

He nods once, a jerk of his head, bringing a lock of hair sweeping down onto his face. Alex has to restrain her hand at her side to stop herself reaching out and tucking it back, gently looping it round the shell of his ear, letting her fingertips brush against his skin gently as sparks rush through her senses at the feel of his solid, rugged skin, the warmth resting on his body soothing her fingers...

"Cut it out, he's lost his childhood friend and confidant, the last thing he needs is his DI making a move on him," Alex thinks firmly, standing up and grasping her wine glass hard as the sound of the shower turning on echoes through the flat. Gene has been staying with her for three days, ever since Ada's murder, monitoring the success of CID from his office but refusing point-blank to read the file on the post-mortem or look at any photos of Ada's body. It is just a blessed relief that they don't have to bring Ada's family down from Manchester to provide a positive ID on Ada's body; Gene had done that for them, free of charge.

The shower runs for much longer than usual; Alex, sensing that something is wrong, cautiously pokes her head round the door, to be greeted with the sight of a gently soaked and fast asleep Gene lying in her bathtub, the shower directed onto his stomach, gently filling up the area around him. Just for a second, his drenched hair clinging to his face makes him look years younger; his complete and utter relaxation, coupled with the water and the spikes of hair slicked over his features, give him the sweet, young look of a little boy. Alex is reluctant to break the trance, but knows that she needs to get some sleep too and that if he stays there for too long the bath'll overflow; trying to explain a sudden leak to Luigi might prove awkward.

"Gene?" she calls softly, ducking back behind the door so that he doesn't realise she's been peeking, despite everything of any consequence that she could have seen being hidden by the bath rack and the high sides of the tub, ideal for pampering but coming in useful now too. A slight twinge of disappointment sneaks into her stomach, dissolving and regrouping somewhere a little more southern. Alex groans to herself, but is distracted by the sound of sloshing coming from the bathroom, followed by a thud and a moan of "ow! Bloody wall!" from the man within.

"Are you OK?"

"Just bloody peachy," comes the grumble from the other side of the door, closely followed by the sound of the shower cutting out and the pads of two wet feet on the floor, the rustle of a bath robe being pulled round a dripping body. A moist hand pushes the door open to display Gene in the navy blue robe from his house to Alex's sight, completely decent but the water slick on his skin driving Alex's eyes- and another couple of regions of her body- wild.

"Best get into bed," she says softly, giving him a gentle smile that completely betrays the rest of her body as he makes his way past her, returning the smile with a quirk of his pale lips. Quietly cursing, Alex sidles into the bathroom, leaving him in privacy to slip into the camp bed set up in Alex's living room for him.

By the time she comes out again, freshened by the water, her curls dark waves skimming her shoulders, he is fast asleep again, dreaming of days long gone by, carefree days on the streets of Manchester with Ada by his side and the notion of murder a distant thing, something to be looked at as a totally separate entity, never something likely to happen to one of them.

* * *

Gene was sulking.

His mother had told him a few minutes ago that he wasn't allowed to go out and play with his friends from the streets around the Hunt's house; due to the possibility that he might pass the sickness that had kept him in bed for the past week onto them. Naturally, his father hadn't thought it was sickness, rather Gene making a play to keep off school- hence the large and painful bruises littering his body, and the long cut just above his right eyebrow- but Gene hadn't used this in his argument against his mother. The result was clear. Gene was to stay inside for today, and tomorrow he would meet his friends at school. One day wouldn't make any difference in the grand scheme of things; besides, the effects of the bug might still be wearing off. Nobody knew when the next wave of nausea might come over the young boy.

He was perched precariously on the garden fence, his most morose pout on his face, the shrubbery bordering the house hiding the wounds to his legs from view. Not for the first time, he wished that he had longer trousers to wear to hide his legs.

"And why is the Gene Genie not off with his friends?"

A familiar Romanian voice, with the term that they had silently agreed between them was Gene, floated over to Gene's ears as the owner walked up, a grin on her face, watching her friend as he hopped off the fence. Her eyebrows rose as she saw the bruises on his legs and the long tear above his eye, but by now she was a veteran to the marks on the Hunt family from the father and made no remark, knowing Gene would never tell her outright how much he suffered at the hands of his dad.

"The Gene Genie's still contagious," Gene muttered, straightening up. His height showed every one of his ten years, and he stood almost shoulder to shoulder with the fifteen-year-old Ada, something that he took a little sneaky pride in and that she had known for years would come, but didn't like its arrival. She was too used to looking downwards whenever she spoke to Gene, she smiled to herself as Gene snuck a look at the kitchen window, seeing his mother vanished as she went to tend to Stu, bedridden by the same virus. Ada noticed the direction of his eyes.

"Your mother doesn't have to worry, I had the bug last week."

"Not why I'm lookin'. If she can't see me go, she can't stop me goin'."

Ada laughed.

"Come on then, before she comes back."

She knew that she shouldn't be encouraging this streak of Gene, the slightly rebellious maverick to his personality, but nevertheless she had missed her friend and Mrs Hunt had nothing to worry about anyway.

Gene, without a backwards glance, started heading towards the scrapyard that had become their place over the years; the local children played there too, climbing onto the old jalopies and pretending to drive them from the ragged, cracked seats, but the comfiest of the wrecked cars, the 1920 Mancunian Ford Model T abandoned right in the middle of the area, had been marked as theirs by an unspoken law. Gene perched on the bonnet while Ada stretched her lithe limbs on the boot, leaning back onto the sun-warmed metal and propping her chin up on her hands, looking round at Gene as he dangled an arm down idly and grasped the leather steering wheel, pretending to be steering the car as he stared out towards the front, imagining a road ahead of him, feet twitching as they pressed on pretend pedals beneath them.

"There's no road, Gene," Ada grinned, reaching forwards to pluck at a crack in the Tin Lizzie's upholstery. Gene frowned.

"Could be."

Ada shrugged, leaving him to it, finding something in the crack that she was curious about.

"AAAAAH!"

Gene, startled from his daydream, leapt off the bonnet at Ada's scream, twisting in mid-air to see her yanking her hand from the passenger seat of the Model T, her face a mask of repulsion as a strange mixture of English and Romanian swear words launched themselves from her mouth.

"What is it?"

Ada's finger pointed at the seat, shaking slightly from the shock. Gene looked down with her, his shocked and anxious expression changing to amusement as he saw the object of her fright.

"Ada, yer an 'undred times bigger than that!"

Leaning down, he gently picked up a spider from the seat, cradling it in his palm as Ada watched, terrified of the creature.

"Get rid of it, get rid of it, Gene!"

"Why? It's fine, Ada."

"Get it out of here NOW, Gene Hunt!"

Gene grinned.

"OK, fine."

Bending down and wincing quietly at the pain from his battered legs at the movement, Gene dropped the spider onto the ground, watching as it scuttled away from the two and towards a scrubby patch of land, disappearing into a maze of weeds. Ada breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you."

Still grinning, Gene straightened up, only to hear Ada shriek again as blood trickled down his leg from a cut on his knee.

"Ada!"

"You're hurt!"

Groaning, Gene examined the source of the blood. It was the mark from his father's belt, etched cruelly into his skin, just about hidden by the cuff of his shorts. Ada knelt down next to him to examine it, a scarlet blemish on the pale skin of his skinny leg, straight and ugly and out of place.

"Someone should take a look at that."

"It's fine," Gene muttered, jerking away from Ada and walking back over to the Model T. Ada, sighing under her breath, followed him, resolving to tackle the issue at a later date.

"Imagining another road?"

Gene frowned at the attempt to change the subject; he knew that Ada had cottoned on to what happened behind the closed doors of the Hunt household, with her canny looks at his many injuries and dismissals of his excuses, but that didn't make him feel any better.

"It's just once in a while, Ada."

Ada, abandoning the covert style, shook her head, her smooth dark hair flying out.

"It's every day, Gene. Every day I look and there are fresh wounds somewhere. Do you think I enjoy seeing my best friend being beaten to a pulp on a daily basis?"

Gene looked away.

"You don' see anythin', though. You don' see the bruises on Mam's body as she undresses ter 'ave a bath, where Dad- the man 'oo married 'er 'cos 'e loved 'er- 'it 'er an' left 'er cryin' in front o' the fire while 'e went out to the pub an' drank the bloody place dry. Or on yer little brother as 'e wakes up from a nightmare an' wakes yer up too wi' 'is screamin'. Or on yerself when yer don' know what yer've done wrong, what yer did ter deserve it. You don' see the horror on Mam's face when 'e lets 'imself in, the way she pushes Stu an' I up the stairs so that 'e'll 'it 'er instead of us. You don' see any of it, Ada, an' be thankful that yer don'."

Gene stopped, staring down at the ground, barely able to breathe for shame. He had just admitted everything, in a heartbeat, to this girl; everything that he worked so hard to hide had vanished from his grasp in a heartbeat. Ada, seeing his stance, rushed forwards to gather him into her arms, pulling him into an embrace as he weakly protested and then snuggled into it, pressing his nose into his friend's shoulder, squeezing his eyes hard to stop himself crying onto her; her solid warmth and the gentle scent of Romanian cooking was so homely and familiar, it was everything he could do to keep the sobs at bay.

"I'm sorry," Ada whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Gene shook his head, his movement restricted by the bear hug she had him in.

"Don' be."

Ada, blinking moisture back from her own eyes, held him harder, five years of affection and care and shared friendship squashed between them, only making the contact better.

"Lovebirds!"

The cry went up as the gang of local kids who had long since claimed the scrapyard, minus one 1920 Ford Model T, as their own, surrounded Gene and Ada, hooting with glee at the sight of them springing apart and fury springing into Gene's bright blue eyes.

"No we're not!"

"Yer in luuuuurve!" the ringleader of the gang, a skinny boy called Daniel, yelled, much to the delight of the boys around them. Gene, humiliated, his cheeks burning, did the only thing he could think of to save face: he launched himself at Daniel, taking the boy by surprise, punching him in the face before he could react and flooring him with one smooth blow, crying out as Daniel leapt up from the floor to rugby tackle him, the boys gathering round with yells and chants as Gene and Daniel fought it out in the dust of the scrapyard, punch upon punch raining on each boy, insults and yelps and grunts of pain interspersing with the thuds and scrapes of the fight.

"WHAT THE BLOODY 'ELL IS GOIN' ON 'ERE?"

Daniel and Gene stilled for the briefest of seconds as the yell rang out across the scrapyard, scrambling to their feet as a shadow bore down on them, both looking towards their feet as the shadow revealed itself to be that of the schoolmaster, Mr Woodington.

"Daniel Stephens and Eugene Hunt, I expect both o' you in my office first thing Monday mornin'! Fightin' like alley cats in full view of a street is 'ardly the way to conduct yourselves now that you are growin' into young men. You're a disgrace to yourselves! Clean yourselves up and get off 'ome before I frogmarch you there meself. You understand?"

The two boys nodded in unison, sending each other looks of mutual hatred beneath their hair. Satisfied that the punishment had been handed out, Mr Woodington turned on his heel and strode away, his nose pinched with anger, anticipating a large glass of scotch as soon as he was home.

Daniel, watching the schoolmaster go with a sneer on his face, leaned over and punched Gene's arm.

"This isn' over yet, Hunt," he hissed, running in the direction of his house with his gang following, barely sparing Gene a second glance apart from the occasional jeer or look of fleeting respect. Not many boys in that area of Manchester would take on Daniel Stephens in a fight, especially boys without a gang of others behind them.

Gene, nursing a bleeding nose and a sprained wrist, turned back to Ada, panting from the fight, seeing the smile in her eyes.

"The Gene Genie lives on."

Gene allowed a fleeting laugh to escape from him, leaning back against the bonnet of the Model T, his triumph only quashed by the thought of what Mr Woodington would dish out as a punishment come Monday.

"Gene Hunt, you get 'ere now!" came from the general direction of Gene's house. Gene tensed, realising that his cover had been blown.

"Oh, bloody 'ell... she's gonna kill me..."

Ada smiled.

"In that case, I'll come to the funeral, if it makes you feel any better."

Gene gave her a tiny smile, pulling his shorts up a little before turning and running back in the direction of his home, calling back a "See yer soon!" that was carried back on the wind to the girl standing alone in the scrapyard, leaning against the dusty side of the Model T, a smile on her face.

Gene paused to watch her for a second, seeing her slim figure and broad smile in the middle of the wrecked cars and dusty, mangy ground; she almost seemed like a film star, surrounded by junk and muck, shining like a beacon in the middle of the gloomy scene but somehow abandoned, alone.

His eyes drank the scene in, preserving it for life, before he turned and ran as another yell rang out from his mother, Ada's laughter accompanying him to his doorstep and a gentle telling-off.

* * *

Alex is about to go into her own bedroom when Gene gives a little moan, shifting slightly in the bed, his hand jutting out as though, in a dream, he is fighting, hitting the wall as he draws it back quickly and tosses onto his side, his jaw set in determination. Wondering whether she should wake him up, Alex crosses the room to rouse him, stopping halfway there when he stills, curled around the blankets and facing her with a smile on his face, some remembered happiness in his features.

Alex stands there, drinking the scene in, preserving it for life, the secret smile at something she does not know but is so wonderful that she just wants to see it forever, before quietly turning and going towards her own room, sliding the door to in order not to wake him up, falling asleep under her warm covers with a little smile on her own face.

* * *

A/N: I hope you like it! Please, please remember to review, reviews really honestly do make my day (and my week as well!). I thought a little more Galex was in order here, so added it in- after being bitten quite badly by the Galex bug, who thought there wasn't enough in the previous chapters. My apologies, Galex bug. *nurses forearm* Oh, and I did the solo as well, in front of a choir from Last Choir Standing! My cold didn't show, I loved every second of that solo :D Please review, I could've just gone on The Sims 3 and left you lot without this update ;) Thanks for reading! Jazzola :)


	4. Chapter 4

Quietly, Gene is dreading the drive to Manchester, the screams of horror and loss from Mr and Mrs Mironescu and overall the pain that Manchester will bring back, but naturally he tells Alex none of this as he plops into the driver's seat of the Quattro and presses the keys into the ignition, his jaw gritted. Alex turns the radio on as soon as the engine roars beneath them, filling the awkward silence with the earnest tones of Tony Blackburn as they begin the arduous journey towards Manchester. Leaning back in the seat, she smiles as she fondly remembers Sunday morning lie-ins at home, reading books as she lay warm and relaxed in bed and listening to this same man on the radio as Evan had his breakfast and prepared to take her somewhere for the day. Glancing at Gene, she notices his glossy eyes and slightly strained expression; unneeded guilt worms into her stomach for feeling good while he's devastated at the loss of his friend.

Tony begins talking to a psychologist visiting the radio station; Alex's smile wavers as the calm voice begins to talk about survivor's guilt.

"An irrational sadness or guilt that the person has survived something that has claimed someone else's life or multiple lives but they survived; it may be tempered if the person has sustained injury through this event, but there would be minimum depletion. A classic example of this would be someone whose family was killed in a road accident, one that only they survived."

_Or their car was blown up with their parents inside in front of their eyes when they'd just got out to get a balloon_. The image of the burning car leaps into her mind's eye, unwelcome but there to stay, and Alex gives a sad smile as her mother's voice whispers softly in her ears: "Leave it! We've got a train to catch." A train that they would never get on, their tickets incinerated along with them; would that train have seen the huge plume of smoke that came from the burning Ford as it departed from the station on the journey that three ticket-holders had not turned up for?

Shaken from her daydream by Gene abruptly switching the radio off, Alex frowns at him.

"What did you do that for?"

"'E was irritatin' me," Gene replies, switching gear and trying to knock Alex's hand off course as she reaches for the radio again, switching it back on before he can protest.

"People who have lost close friends-"

Gene's gloved hand jerks out, hitting the button hard as Alex sucks her breath in at the realisation.

"Oh God... I'm sorry, Gene, I didn't realise, I wasn't listening. I was in a world of my own."

"Nothin' unusual there," Gene mutters, but as they weave on through the motorway traffiche catches her eye and lets her know she is forgiven, a silent message sweeping through his gaze to make its way to her. Relaxing against the leather, she gives him a tremulous smile and looks back at the road, hissing an obscenity under her breath at a lane-hogger and checking a road sign: Manchester, about another 150 miles, if the measurements on there are anything to go by.

"Is this the first time you've been back to Manchester since you left?" Alex asks, trying to distract them from the drama of the radio. Gene nods.

"Didn' fancy goin' back just ter see Mam. Nothin' else draggin' me back there."

"You grew up there, surely there are some fond memories of Manchester?"

"Few an' far between, Bolls."

Alex nods in understanding, letting the engine lapse into the gap left by their silence, comfortable with the quiet, just her and Gene and the thrumming engine for company.

Something else comes into the equation after a few more miles; Alex wriggles in her seat, clenching her legs, something that doesn't go unnoticed by Gene.

"Problem, Bolly-Kecks?"

"I, er, might need to find a ladies' at some point, Guv."

"Oh, great. Next services are in twenty miles, Bolls, so cross yer legs."

Alex nods, trying hard not to think of running water or oceans as the car powers along the M1, heading towards the North and hopefully some relief for her in a few minutes.

The services can't come quickly enough; Alex opens the car door before Gene has even had a chance to put the handbrake on, vanishing in a flash of purple batwing top and high heels. Gene, suppressing a grin at his DI, checks the map she'd brought with her and lights a cigarette, closing his eyes as the nicotine hits home.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the glimmer of a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows. Frowning, he surreptitiously turns towards it, making out he's rubbing dirt off the window but trying to make out the figure from the gloom.

A small flash of light marks its disappearance.

Gene sits still, his eyes fixed on the area, giving up all pretence of not having seen the person; he knows that they've spotted him. The depressed-looking trees are all there is to see, with all traces of a person there gone.

"Gene?"

Gene jumps, startled out of his concentration, and turns to see Alex knocking on the window, her face a picture of confusion.

"Can you unlock the door?"

"It's locked?"

Gene leans across and slides the lock open, drawing back as Alex eases in and sits down, her eyes fixed on him.

"What's so interesting about a little patch of scrubland?"

"Nothin'. Just thought I saw somethin'."

He realises too late what she might make of that, but ignores his thoughts, instead revving the car and nosing back towards the exit.

"Are you sure you're OK to drive?"

The words are out of Alex's mouth before she can stop them. Gene's forehead creases.

"I saw someone watchin' me. I didn' 'ave a vision. I'm not mad."

Alex's suspicions vanish in a second, only to be replaced with new ones, this time to do with the case they are investigating and not her DCI's mental health.

"Someone watching you? What were they doing? What did they look like?"

"Didn' see them clearly." Gene flicks the indicator on, growling at a BMW cutting him off before he can get out. "Jus' them watchin' me from under those trees. Somethin' gleamed when they turned away, could've been anythin' from a pen ter a gun."

Alex tenses in her seat, a movement that doesn't go unnoticed by Gene. He reaches over to put a hand on her arm, soothing her before putting his hand back on the wheel again; Alex tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach from his touch and keep thinking on what he's said.

"So they were just watching you, and when you saw them they turned away?"

"Yeah. Yer got enough fer a psycho-analysis yet?"

"It's psych- oh."

Gene grins.

* * *

"Eugene Hunt, get yer lazy self out 'ere or we'll be late!"

Gene grimaced at the mention of his full name, giving himself one more once-over in the mirror before running out of the door. His mother must be tense- it was rare for her to call him Eugene; it was only really used if he was in big trouble, if his mother was somewhere posh and wanted to impress, or if his father was calling him, hence his dislike of the name. That and it was a poofy name, not the name of a man.

"Eugene!"

"Comin'! Stop callin' me that!"

Gene headed out of the front door hastily before his mother could call his name again, his shined black shoes tapping on the dusty concrete outside the house. Stu was already there in full wedding regalia, small suit and tie, his expression gloomy as Mrs Hunt tucked his shirt in at the back and fussed over Gene's trousers, wiping a smear of dirt off while Gene (not completely truthfully) claimed that he had no idea where it came from.

"I 'ope yer cleaner than this when yer move out, or yer goin' ter 'ave some trouble findin' a job, yer mucky little pups," Mrs Hunt sighed as the boys skulked by her side, both annoyed by the horrible clothing and the prospect of a whole day sitting in church while the adults got teary and the cool air chilled them beyond comprehensible thought.

"Yer could at least smile, yer goin' ter a weddin'!" she chided them as they entered the churchyard next to her, seeing Gene's pout and Stu's drawn eyebrows. Stu ignored her, heading off for the prayer books to make up rude versions to himself; Gene stalked to a low wall on the other side of the church and sat down on it, his bright blue eyes unimpressed as they surveyed the wedding party. Mrs H from next door was there, low-cut top not ideal for her sagging cleavage; Gene sniggered as she surreptitiously adjusted her bra, earning himself a cold look from her. She was still angry with him over last week's episode with the football and the petunias.

"Only squashed a couple," he muttered sulkily. She hadn't even given him his ball back; he'd had to go and get it himself, which was when the lavender had been trampled. His pout deepened. Why put lavender right next to a fence, anyway? Surely you'd put it out in the open, where you could see it?

"Why the pout, little man?"

Gene looked over at the speaker, a well-dressed, tall man with slicked-back dark hair and a white rose in his button-hole. The man wore a friendly smile, but Gene was still wary of him; one of the first lessons his mam had told him was never to talk to strangers, even if said stranger seemed to be part of the wedding lot.

"You don't have to be shy. I'm the bridegroom," the man said, smiling and crouching down next to Gene, looking into the blue eyes.

"I'm not a little man. I'm nine."

"Nine? Well, let me tell you, sir, I'm only eleven years older than you."

Gene did the maths in his head.

"Yer twenty. An' not from around 'ere."

"I'm twenty, yes. And I'm from Hereford. Do you know where that is?"

Gene shook his head. The furthest afield he'd ever been was twenty miles away on the bus to visit his grandmother, and he got the feeling Hereford was a lot further away from Manchester than that.

"It's in the West Midlands, near Wales. About a hundred and thirty miles away from here."

Gene wrinkled his nose.

"What're yer doin' up 'ere, then?"

"I met Roseanne on holiday, and came up here to marry her and get a job. I'm a policeman."

Gene's interest immediately peaked.

"What's it like? Bein' a copper."

The man smiled.

"It can be good. Sometimes you catch them, sometimes you don't. Sometimes they're locked up and you can tell people they've hurt that they'll never come near them again, but sometimes you have to tell them that you haven't caught them and maybe never will. Being a policeman is a rough ride, young sir, but it's one that you can spend your whole life travelling along."

Someone suddenly called a name, and the man stood up, motioning for a couple more seconds. Gene shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing the floor, jumping slightly as the man eased his arm out from his pocket and put something in it.

"Hold it out, like this."

He held it out in front of him, motioning opening the little leather wallet he'd put in Gene's fingers. Gene mirrored him out of curiosity, and suddenly found, to his intense delight, that he was holding a warrant card out, fingers straight on the sleek black surface. The man nodded, a grin on his face.

"That's it! If you ever chose to become a policeman, young sir, you'd be quite an imposing one."

The same name was called again, and the man sighed.

"Photos. I have to go. Keep that safe for me through the service, would you? Roseanne says I'm married to the force already, I don't want her claiming that's literally the case."

He hurried off, leaving Gene grasping the warrant card out in front of him. Grinning, Gene turned it over to look at it, revelling in the shining skin and the clean corners, the simplicity and complicity of such a thing, and then held it out again just as he'd been shown, schooling his smile into a stern frown and remembering the one rank of police he knew from the radio, an interview a couple of weeks ago.

"'Ands in the air! DCI Gene Hunt. I'm arrestin' yer fer murder."

"Don't shoot, officer!"

Gene swerved round, jerked from his fantasy by the familiar tones, to see Ada walking towards him from the shadows, wearing a new dress of some soft material that flowed round her legs, a beam on her face.

"Very scary, DCI Hunt. Very realistic. I can see you doing that when you're older."

Gene's smile stretched from ear to ear as he held the warrant card out again, issuing his warning once again, voice loud in the churchyard as people turned to see the nine-year-old boy with sandy hair and a stiff new suit holding out a warrant card, addressing the air in front of him in a stern, deep voice. A couple of people laughed, Mrs H looked disapproving, but the photographer turned and saw the opportunity for what could become a timeless shot, crouching down to snap the child holding out the leather wallet.

And thus it was imprinted forever, that perfect moment on a wedding day in February when Gene Hunt decided to become a policeman.

* * *

The Quattro's tyres rumble onto familiar streets as Gene makes a turn into the area he used to live in, a grim look on his face as he takes in the surroundings, remembering them many years ago, the red-brick houses and the new additions of high-rise flats and the scrubby park he played in for hours as a child. They pass a church on the way, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens; out of the corner of his eye, he sees a low wall in the churchyard, and just for a second his younger self is standing there again, holding out the warrant card with Ada clapping beside him, the bright flash from the camera cascading out across the scene as the cameraman takes his picture. Alex puts her hand on top of his, almost instantly regretting it as she realises what she's doing, but Gene's only reaction is to shift his other hand on top of hers and keep driving. The memories will come, and in plenty; but he knew that before he set off, and he is determined that it will make no difference. He is here to deliver a terrible message and then leave again; he almost feels like some kind of natural disaster, come to sow sorrow and then part for distant shores. This time, his hands clench so hard his knuckles stand out, a tiny crack of dry skin splitting over one and a thin line of blood trickling down into his glove; he doesn't notice, and Alex tries to ignore it.

"Whereabouts do they live?"

"Over 'ere. The flats."

Gene glances towards a Ford indicating to go across the Quattro's nose, allowing the driver to go before him, no expression on his face as the elderly car struggles to get up speed; for the first time in many months, Gene Hunt is genuinely scared of what awaits him in that house, the people he will have to tell their daughter is dead. For a fleeting second he wonders if they will recognise him.

Alex, next to him, wonders if he'll make it out of Manchester in one piece, looking at how tense he is, fidgeting in his seat, fingertips tapping the steering wheel agitatedly as they draw into a parking space, lingering for longer than necessary in the Quattro before lifting himself out and closing the door. The gentle click of the Quattro's door is totally out of character for the Manc Lion, and Alex finds that real worry is snaking into her gut. Why, oh why, did she ever go along with this?

_Gene obviously loves to torture himself. Or maybe it's just his instinct to protect taking over and making him mask his own pain to try and help others. Poor, poor man._

"Floor three."

"What?"

"Floor three. That's where Ada's parents live."

Alex looks towards the flats; the sight that greets her is a dismal tower block, very 1960s with faded canary yellow panels under the windows and dulled red brick making up the skeleton of the building. Leaking drainpipes give the illusion that the building is crying; shivering, she wonders how anyone could live here without becoming depressed almost immediately. Gene, she finds, is already striding towards the peeling double doors heralding the entrance. _Obviously someone with no sense of aesthetics. And I thought his office was bad._

Shrugging at herself, Alex follows him up the path, high heels seeming to find every rut in the pockmarked concrete as she avoids the worst of the puddles.

_Welcome to Manchester. Enjoy your stay._

"Bolly, yer comin'?"

"Sorry."

"Don' worry. I'm in no 'urry."

"Gene Hunt?"

The voice takes both Gene and Alex by surprise: a weathered Romanian voice, thick with suppressed grief, only the tiniest hint of surprise under the broad tones. Gene turns, his head lifting slightly at the sight of the hunched old woman behind him, her weathered skin just an older version of her daughter's, greasy grey hair hanging lankly at her shoulders, unkempt, as though every inch of her wept for her lost child.

The woman steps forwards.

"Do you remember me, Gene? Yes. You do." Pause.

"I'm so sorry about A- Ada."

* * *

A/N: Sorry sorry sorry for the delay! Hope you liked, please review (need something to cheer me up now school's started), and thanks for reading! All readers get a free cup of Alex Bollinger-Knickers Special Tea: Bollinger (naturally) with black tea, no sugar, in a Devonshire china cup with scalloped edges and a matching saucer, both with a red rose pattern. Thanks to EightEminus for the idea, and thanks for the cup of Gene Genie Special Tea, although all that sugar should keep me on a sugar high until 2020- how is Gene not permanently hyper? Ah well. Thanks for reading! Jazzola :)


	5. Chapter 5

Helga Mironescu's hands shake so badly that tea slops over the table and floor as she tries to make Gene and Alex a brew; Alex leaps up and does it for her, leaving Gene bereft on the faded old sofa as he fiddles with his jacket, looking for something to do that will keep his gaze from the nut-brown eyes of Teo Mironescu and the work-worn, Ada-reminiscent face of Helga. He knows without looking up that Teo is drinking him in, studying him like his intelligent irises would study a book or a painting, and feels uncomfortable under the gaze of the man he has known for years, despite the familiarity and mutual friendship there.

"Gene."

He looks up to see Teo leaning towards him, reaching out with a knotted hand to touch Gene's arm, Ada's eyes staring into his own. He has to look away.

"Gene, please. Look at me."

Steeling himself, Gene turns and looks straight into Teo's eyes, seeing the tranquil brown hazed by tears. Teo's line of sight never once flickers.

"Gene, I am so sorry. She was your friend too. You must be very sad because she is gone."

His English, though stilted and heavily accented, is better than either Gene or Alex had been expecting. Alex sits down in the armchair next to Gene, bowing her head as she looks round under her fringe; a cosy little room, memories strewn across it as pictures and pieces of writing and little objects. Her eyes alight on a tiny copper trophy, crudely bent by young fingers, in the corner, with the words "GENE HUNT AND ADA MIRONESCU" painted shakily on it, and she smiles slightly. _Poor, poor Gene, being in a room crowded with so many memories. _Had this been a room filled with things of Molly's, she doesn't know how she would cope.

"I'm fine, Teo," Gene says softly, looking round at the trophy as well, his eyes drowning in sorrow as they rest on the dulled sheen of the dented metal. A photo next to it draws his attention towards it, and he remembers a wedding many years ago at which he held a warrant card out with Ada clapping nearby and a bright flash filling his eyes as his image was preserved. Alex looks too, standing up to pick up the picture frame and take a better look at the little boy, her mouth curving into a smile at the sight.

"That's beautiful," she says softly, and Helga pauses in sitting down and gives a short, half-hearted laugh.

"Everybody looks at the picture of Gene, everybody likes it. He is without time."

It takes Alex a second to work out that she means timeless, but yes, Gene is timeless; no more than nine or ten years old, lean but tall and broad-shouldered, the joy on his face a total contrast to the misery of the little flat, the damp-streaked walls and the dull rooms. And behind him is...

That could only be Ada.

She looks a teenager, her broad features welcoming and happy, her hands blurs as they clap at the child in front of her; her distinctive features are hard to miss. She is simple, pretty, happy. Alex has to choke back tears at the thought of this beautiful girl becoming the mutilated body she had dragged Gene away from only a few days ago; such a waste, such a wonderful person taken away. If this is just a taster of what Gene's feeling, he must be the toughest man she could possibly imagine.

"She's beautiful," Alex says softly. "Ada is."

"She was," Helga says sadly, falling back into the armchair, her lank hair swiping at her face before she pushes it back hard; Alex winces at the movement, but it's as though Helga hasn't even felt it, as though she is punishing herself after the loss of her daughter and will not let herself flinch. Alex feels like crying at the sight of the grief-stricken humans in front of her, the defeat they feel, the loss of their little girl so keen in their hearts, and when she looks round at Gene his gaze is distant, deliberately keeping himself that way so that the grief cannot get to him too much.

"Would you mind if I just popped to the toilet?" Alex asks quickly, suddenly desperate to get out of the room, knowing that the elephant in the room will be more at ease without her there. Helga directs her to a dismal little bathroom a little way out, pristine but morose.

_How people can live here without committing suicide is beyond me, _Alex thinks as she sits down on the lid of the toilet, turning and seeing a picture next to her, just at eye height. Once again, it is Ada and Gene, laughing together in the sunlight of a bright summer, a livid bruise almost hidden by Gene's sleeve but horribly obvious to Alex as she studies the picture in closer detail. _That bastard father of his... _But Gene's smile is enough to draw her attention away from it, and her own lips twitch as she traces the edge of the frame slowly, seeing the bond of friendship as though it was a physical object between the two of them.

That picture alone is, in a way, Gene and Ada: battle-worn and bruised, rough at the edges but under the ragged seams wonderfully defined, their strong loyalty and trust and mutual connection so clear. A tear stain is visible on the edge of the photo, the edges dirty, as though picked up on a great many occasions, something close to someone's heart.

She doesn't move for a long time.

* * *

The low wail of the air raid sirens punctured the air as Gene Hunt stumbled out of bed, pulling on his clothes from the chair next to the bed and yanking on his brother's shoulder to try and rouse him from a deep slumber, running through to his mother's bedroom as Stu sits up and yelps.

"Mam!"

Mrs Hunt jerked awake, turning to see the space once occupied by her husband empty once again; he was off fighting the Germans, risking his life every day but never sending her letters to tell her he was alive- in fact, she was beginning to doubt that he was. But for now, her concern was the warning rumbling through the air and the two little boys standing at her feet, one six, one four, both scared.

"Come on, boys, we 'ave ter get out o' the 'ouse."

Mrs Hunt stood up and grasped her sons' hands, trying to be brave for them, seeing the fear in their eyes. If she wasn't going to be brave, then who was?

The cold air pierced the Hunts' bodies and jarred their lungs as they hurried out, the garden lit up horrifically from the bombs smashing Manchester to pieces around their ears. Stu screamed as one fell so close the ground trembled beneath them, crouching down and sheltering his head with his arms; Gene barely paused, grabbing his brother and all but throwing him into the air raid shelter just as next door's house exploded, taking a direct hit from the Luftwaffe.

"GENE!"

Without a second thought, Mrs Hunt ran out from the shelter to find her son, seeing him coughing within a pile of rubble and lifting him into her arms, sprinting back to the corrugated iron mound as Gene convulsed in her grasp, blood trickling from his head. Stu sobbed inside the shelter, guilt festering in his stomach, reaching out to grasp his brother's hand as Gene hacked out another round of choking; had he not stupidly stopped, fear paralysing him, this might never have happened.

"Gene, sweet'eart, just relax, yer OK, darlin'... just calm down, just trust us, yeah? We're all 'ere an' we're all safe. Calm down, calm down."

Mrs Hunt soothed her son, rocking him in her arms until his gasps faded into nothingness and he nestled into his mother's chest, needing comfort, heart still racing. Stu lay in one of the bunks, watching his brother, eyes wide and scared from his own close miss as the ground bucked beneath them and silence fell in the hut.

Around dawn, they dared to leave; the explosions had faded, the dust beginning to settle around them as they slipped out to view what was left of their house.

The foundations of the gutted building were horribly exposed, dented and charred almost beyond recognition; the brickwork was scattered across the property, furniture ripped open and possessions flung carelessly anywhere. Gene's bed lay broken on top of the sofa, snapped cleanly in half. The radio in the corner of the lounge was cracked through and through, the speaker ripped off with the force of the devastation. Mrs Hunt stepped as though in a daze into her obliterated lounge, picking up a picture frame showing her sons as babies, telling the boys to stay where they were because of broken glass and sitting down on the wrecked armchair next to the collapsed fireplace, burying her head in her hands and beginning to sob.

"Mam?" Gene called softly, watching his mother falling apart in front of his eyes and picking his way through the wreckage to put his arms round the woman sitting in the ripped chair, easing himself up onto the arm and resting his body against her, hearing the sounds of vehicle sirens behind him and turning to see an ambulance, fire truck and ARP warden coming towards them. Their attentions seemed to be on next door; a glance told him all he needed to know, and he buried his face in his mother's shirt to try and block the destruction out.

"Ma'am? Yer in there? Sonny, get yer mother ter look up fer me, would yer?"

Gene shook his mum's shoulder gently, whispering a message in her ear as the ARP warden approached, crunching on debris as he bent down to Mrs Hunt's level. The woman herself slowly looked up, an arm instinctively winding itself round her son's back to stop him falling off the side of the armchair, holding him close.

"Come wi' me, ma'am."

Gene slipped down onto the wrecked floor as his mother stood up and followed the warden as though in a daze, a little girl once again, Stu protesting faintly at being picked up and Gene simply walking in the dusty footprints left by the men swarming round the property. Just a few hours ago this had been his lounge. A lump pricked at his throat, and he had to swallow hard to try and dislodge it.

"Should've been evacuated, them two boys," someone in the crowd muttered. Gene glared up at the people clustered round his destroyed home from beneath his fringe, shrugging a neighbour's hand off his shoulder, turning to see the ambulance crew pulling two bodies from the burning rubble on the other side of the fence, firemen trying to extinguish the blaze that ate hungrily at the destruction.

_Mr and Mrs James. I 'ate you, Hitler._

Mrs Hunt seemed to be having the same thoughts; her breath came in a strangled gasp as she saw the stretchers and the charred limbs hanging from their sides, and she grasped Gene and swerved him away from the scene, trying to protect him but knowing quietly that he'd already seen it all. Stu was being hustled into one of the cars that had pulled up nearby, and someone grabbed Gene's arm and started pulling him towards the same vehicle; Gene yanked himself out of the woman's grasp, but joined his brother willingly, shifting up to make room for his mother.

"Where're we goin'?" Mrs Hunt asked as the car drew off, the driver sucking at a pipe in the front. Gene caught the strong stink of the tobacco and breathed it in, wishing that it would relax him, take away the horrors of what had just happened; all that it really did was start him off coughing again.

"Yer goin' ter 'ave ter contact someone yer know an' ask if they can put yer up, dear. If not, there's rented accommodation, but yer'll be lucky ter find somewhere. Why aren't yer sons out in the country, eh? 'E looks like 'e needs a doctor."

He pointed towards the recovering Gene, who glared at the outstretched finger and crossed his arms angrily, pouting and pushing his body back into the plush seats. Mrs Hunt tapped his arm and gave him a stern look, no real malice behind her expression as she turned back to the man.

"It'll 'ave ter be near my work then, I can't afford ter lose a weeks' wages."

The man shrugged.

"There're places yer can get everywhere, they'll let yer go back an' get yer stuff when the fire's out."

Stu whimpered, earning himself a supercilious look from Gene and a little twitch of the lip from his mother. Gene's raised eyebrows ripped at the scab on his forehead, and a trickle of blood trailed down into his eye; Mrs Hunt pulled a handkerchief from her nightie sleeve and began dabbing at her son's head, pressing the thin cloth to his skin to try and stem the bleeding, the driver watching quietly in the rear view mirror.

"Yer need some first aid."

He pulled over at the side of the road, pulling a medical pack out of his passenger footwell and turning to tie a bandage round the cut. Gene stiffened beneath the strange fingers, his eyes following the man's every move, distrust everywhere; he'd learned to be wary of men from bitter experience before his father went off to fight in the war.

"There yer go," the man said quietly, turning and focusing on the road again as he pulled off, a little puzzled at the behaviour of the surly little boy sitting behind him. Was it normal for boys these days to be so- scared?

"Probably the shock," he told himself as they pulled up outside a shop with peeling white paint coating its shabby exterior, getting out and opening the door to reveal an equally disappointing inside, slightly crooked wooden desks and a woman sitting slouched in a chair, sucking on a cigarette as she turned the page of her magazine, only looking up to see the people standing there when the man called out to her.

"Yer want some accommodation?" she asked, staring at the bandage on Gene's forehead before opening a thick book in front of her. Gene fidgeted as the adults began talking uninteresting talk, houses and addresses and areas that meant nothing to him.

All he could see in the future was the blackened, twisted corpses of his former neighbours.

_Is this the world? _he asked himself. _People 'urtin' other people? People destroyin' the lives of others fer their own gain, not even people they know sometimes? An' now we've lost everythin' except each other._

He looked up at the mention of his name, in a very familiar Romanian tone.

"Gene?"

Ada was stood at the back of the shop, staring at him in his bedraggled state, her friend of one year with his family and a bandaged head, dusty and bloody. Gene rushed over to throw his arms round her waist, hugging her fiercely, something from his old life that he could cling on to, something in this tumult of death and destruction. Ada said nothing, but simply held him close, letting him press himself to her, rubbing his back but stopping as he gave her a tiny glare and settled back into holding her. She smiled to herself as soon as he wasn't looking: the Gene she knew was still there, then.

"What're yer doin' 'ere?" Gene asked as soon as he let go, looking straight up into Ada's eyes and seeing a faint curiosity in her own expression.

"We're paying in our rent. What about you?"

"Our 'ouse was destroyed," Gene managed before turning away, the events finally crashing down onto him in their enormity: he was homeless, six years old, and his father was on the front line fighting Jerries. Ada tried to offer sympathies, but he shook his head, barely even taking them in.

"Well, if you need somewhere to stay for tonight, you could come to our house."

Mrs Hunt's head jerked up towards Ada at the offer.

"Would we... would we be able to, Ada? Just for tonight, until we can sort something out and get our things?"

Ada nodded enthusiastically, running over to her parents and beginning to gabble in hurried Romanian, her eyes alight and her gestures wild as the two adults standing at one of the desks turned and took in the Hunts, nodding once and walking over to begin talking to Mrs Hunt, offering their assistance.

Two hours later and Gene was walking up a very different path, towards the house that Ada and her family were renting. Although small, it would serve its purpose for tonight, certainly, and the bright smell of Romanian cooking and fresh paint welcomed them in as they were led through into a little room that would be theirs for tonight, unless Gene wanted to sleep through with Ada, in her room.

"Would yer mind, Gene? It's very cramped in 'ere," Mrs Hunt said quietly, starting to assemble makeshift beds for herself and Stu in the little room and motioning to the pile of hand-sewn cushions that Mrs Mironescu had left for Gene to make up into something he could rest on. Gene nodded, grabbing handfuls of the cushions and making his way through into Ada's room, trying to protest at her helping him but failing to make any difference, as she simply went through and picked up more of the cushions.

Gene would never forget the gratitude he felt towards the Mironescus and Ada that day.

* * *

Leaving the Mironescus' flat, Gene doesn't glance back once; he is desperate to distance himself from the memories that seeing Helga and Teo has brought back. Alex hurries along beside him, trying hard not to catch his eye and tripping on the death-trap concrete leading up to the Quattro.

"Bloody 'ell, maybe yer should try trainers," Gene tuts, picking her up, but there's no malice behind his words and the gentleness with which he picks her up is so unlike his normal rough approach Alex's heart begins to beat a little faster.

As she brushes herself down and looks up at the scrubby patch of trees next to the flats, she sees a pair of eyes watching her.

Freezing in surprise, she yells Gene's name, pointing towards the copse; Gene sets off, seeing what she's motioning to, but emerges from the trees shaking his head.

"Nothin' there, Bolls. Nothin', not even footprints. Tha's not normal."

Alex catches up with him, crouching down to check the soil herself, knowing that Gene is clocking her arse behind her. _At least he's beginning to feel more normal, _she jokes to herself as he helps her stand up and deliberately lets his hand go a little more southern than normal. She doesn't mind; if anything, the contact raises goosebumps on her skin, sending a little shiver of something she can't quite distinguish down her spine.

"Well, there was someone there," Alex says almost defensively, brushing herself down for the second time and sighing at the ragged state of her jeans. Gene shakes his head.

"I'm not doubtin' yer, Bolls. I just don' know 'ow they managed this. Unless they're very light or on stilts, both o' which are a little 'ard ter believe, I don't know."

Alex sighs at the area itself, pulling on Gene's sleeve to get him back to the Quattro and earning herself a slit-eyed look; the impulse to mother him, to try and take care of him, is so strong after his recent sadness after losing Ada, and she almost misses being able to fuss over him as she did back at her flat.

"If yer don't mind, Lady Bolly-Kecks, I think I can make my way back ter my own car unaided!"

Alex murmurs an apology, missing the amused look in his eyes as he turns away and starts striding towards the Quattro, pulling his hip-flask out from his pocket and taking a healthy swig as he goes.

From the window of the flats behind them, a face watches, lank hair surrounding sadness as the woman presses her hand against the window, almost as though she could reach out to the people below, as if she could walk straight through the dusty glass and join them in the soft seats of the bright red beast parked a little way away.

As the car starts up, the shining, sleek barrel of a gun presses itself against the greasy hair, and the woman gives a silent sob before taking a step back from the window.

* * *

A/N: Haha, what a lovely ending XD Soo... hope you enjoyed it, and sorry for the delay, just been busy with other fics and such and my Sims 3 isn't working so I have a lot more time for Wii Sports and, well... OK, OK, I haven't been updating and someone should send my own radioactive ostriches to bite me XD Thanks massively for reading, and please remember to review! Thanks to TimeladyoftheHunt for the inspiration for the Blitz flashback, and her new fic "Gene the Evacuee", which I think is a great idea :D Jazzola :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the dogs I've loved, Golden Eyes, Amberdextrous, Hector and Billie, simply because they're my girlies (and boy) and this chapter features dogs. Hope you enjoy, and I am so sorry for the delay, but I had the worst writer's block I think I've ever really had for this story... sorry once again! Jazzola :)

* * *

The shabby hotel that they find on the outskirts of Manchester is just about enough for Gene and Alex, with two single beds adjacent to one another and a moth-eaten rug in between. When they first walk into the room, the rug is accompanied by an old dog; Gene coaxes it out of the room as Alex rings downstairs to find out why there is a dog in their room. All the time she is quietly watching Gene, seeing his encouraging smile to the dog, grinning herself as he grabs its collar and rubs his hand over its back once, twice, three times, leaning down to keep it occupied as the dog sinks to the floor and pants happily, pawing at Gene for more attention.

_Who would've thought Gene would be a dog person?_

Gene eases the paws off his suit, brushing what seems like a whole blanket of dog fur from his hands before diving in for another rub, only hauling it up when the owner comes along to take it off their hands.

"Sorry," he says quickly as he grabs the dog's collar, looking confused as it strains to get back to Gene, tail drooping as it vanishes round the corner. Gene watches it going, a similar look of bemusement on his face as the dog makes one last attempt to get back to him before submitting to its owner.

"Someone's a hit with that pooch," Alex says quietly to Gene, her eyes on him as he brushes himself down and picks a few more hairs off his clothing, retreating back into the room to get changed. He doesn't reply, but for a second she sees a tiny smile curving the sides of his mouth before he ducks his head and it's lost in a blur of blond mane.

A few minutes later and they are lying parallel with each other, Alex trying to concentrate on her book when Gene's just a few inches away, Gene staring into space with his hip-flask clutched in his hand, his mind wandering slightly. Alex sneaks a look at him past the cover of her book, almost able to hear his brain whirring, a slightly unusual experience with Gene.

"What're you thinking?"

He starts, looking round at her, shaking his head as he turns to contemplation of his hip-flask, not even admitting to himself that his body has relaxed under the duvet just from hearing her voice.

"Nothin'."

"Impossible, you were somewhere about Mars in thought."

He shrugs. Alex, knowing that he's not going to open up of his own volition, tries a different tactic.

"Where did you learn to be so good with dogs?"

"Up 'ere. Ada found a stray one time, we spent the 'ole day tryin' ter get it out from the garden an' it liked us after a while."

Alex smiles, reaching over to rest her hand on Gene's arm, feeling his muscles bunch and then determinedly relax under her fingers.

"Yer 'ands are cold," he says as a quick excuse, although both of them know it's not the truth.

"OK, I'd better get under the duvet then. It's almost midnight, I'd be conked out by now if we were back in London."

"Nancy. Midnight's nothin'. Yer only live in the early hours."

"Burning the midnight oil. I thought it was authors who did that, not DCIs."

"Oh, I dunno, Bolls. I'm a man o' many talents."

"Such as dog-whispering, banging up scum and drinking?"

"Among others."

He draws the duvet up over himself and leans over to turn the light off, stopping as Alex's voice cuts through the air between them.

"No, please, Gene."

"What now, woman?" he asks, exasperated and tired, staring at her in the gloom. She bites her lip uncertainly, looking over at him, fiddling with her nails beneath the book.

"I, er... I get scared in the dark. I have a nightlight at home, but I forgot to bring it... I guess you're one of those people who can only sleep in the dark?"

"Unless I've been up since stupid o'clock on surveillance."

He sighs inwardly, watching her with something approaching hesitation in his expression. Alex shakes her head, turning to switch the light off, but he stops her with one rugged hand, getting out of bed and pushing the two beds together so that they are lying a comfortable distance apart, but not too far.

"There. I'll 'old yer 'and until yer drop off, if it 'elps."

Alex nods once, a smile coming over her face.

"It does. How did you know?"

He smirks, sliding back into bed and denting the pillows with a scarred fist, turning to face her.

"Yer not the only one 'oo knows some psychology. Yer kept lookin' at my 'ands while yer were talkin'."

Alex blushes, silently cursing him at his intelligence and the fact that she can't even gain the high ground again by correcting him on it being psychology. The darkness abruptly hides her blush, and Gene's strong fingers find hers, nestling her hand in his rough warmth, his hitch-hiker's thumb rubbing against the back of her hand as he lies back and closes his eyes, completely aware of the effect he's having on Alex.

Trying to rein herself in, Alex snuggles into the cold duvet, clutching at Gene's hand in case it slips out of hers, hearing his breathing even out and deepen, the slight rustle and gentle sigh as he turns over, out of it.

She brings their linked hands to her heart and keeps them there for a long time after she falls asleep.

* * *

"Gene! There's a dog in your garden!"

As brilliant a way to start a Saturday morning as it was, Gene was not best pleased about the fifteen-year-old hurricane sweeping into his bedroom and yanking the covers off his bed, exposing his skinny body to the cold world. He yelped, pulling it back, turning to bury his head in the pillows as Ada pulls them off as well.

"Gene, there's a dog in your garden, and your mother told me to tell you that if you don't get up and get it out, she'll kill it."

Gene sat bolt upright, staring at her.

"She wouldn'!"

"It's eating her hydrangeas."

"OK, maybe she would."

Ada smothered a laugh as he slid off the bed, yanked on a baggy jumper and ordered her out while he pulled on trousers and a torn pair of slippers, running out into the garden to the sight of his mother brandishing a rake at a Labrador Retriever dog lying in the entrance to the little alleyway at the end of their garden as it munched on the stem of a peony, blissfully unconcerned about the prongs waving a couple of feet away from him.

"Gene, get it out!" Mrs Hunt screeched, stabbing the rake like a spear at the animal. Ada hung back, uncertain about the dog, as Gene edged forwards, clicking his fingers at the dog, trying his most appealing voice, the one that had worked on Judy Mason at school.

"Come on, boy... come out o' the garden, come on. Mam isn' too 'appy about yer eatin' 'er flowers, an' yer better keep away from the jasmines, they're poisonous. Although if she gets 'er 'ands on yer, yer don' 'ave ter worry about that, yer'll be dead already. She spent a month growin' those hydrangeas."

The dog regarded him, its tail beginning to wag as Gene got a little closer, crouching down to its level, his eyes fixed on its muzzle (he'd heard somewhere that looking them in the eye was perceived as a challenge, and didn't fancy those petal-flecked jaws around his leg) as his voice went low and soothing, murmuring nonsense as he edged further towards the dog, his mother watching warily, Ada watching with interest, and Stu watching from his upstairs window, gripping the sill tightly as his brother got closer to the mutt at the base of their garden.

As though a switch had clicked, the dog got up, saunted over to Gene, its tail slicing through the air on either side, and licked his hand, gazing up at him with chocolate brown eyes, anvil-shaped head warm and hard as Gene cautiously rested his hand on it, smiling as the tail revved up to several swishes a second, a blur as the Labrador nuzzled his new friend for more attention, pressing against his legs and pushing his nose into his crotch, drinking in Gene's scent. Gene pushed him away, a little embarrassed.

"Bloody 'ell, don' yer know 'ow important that area is? By invitation only, pooch."

The dog simply licked his shorts pocket and picked up a stick from the ground, holding it out to Gene, an appealing look in the huge eyes.

"He wants to play fetch," Ada said, moving forwards. "It's OK, Mrs Hunt, Labradors are generally safe."

Mrs Hunt sighed.

"Why don' yer take 'im ter the scrapyard an' play a little wi' 'im there, an' then leave 'im there? 'E's probably lost 'is family in the bombin' raids. 'E'll be fine on 'is own."

Gene nodded in agreement, taking the stick and holding it high above his head, whirling it in front of the dog's face as he barked eagerly, startling everyone for a second before they realised he just wanted to play. Mrs Hunt stalked off to try and repair the damage to her mangled plants, yelling to Stu to bring her a trowel and a filled watering can as Ada opened the gate and Gene slid through, holding the stick out in front of the dog, holding his attention as they approached the scrapyard.

"OK, throw it as hard as you can," Ada told him, watching as he flexed his arm and flung the stick over the familiar Ford, to the other side of the scrapyard.

"Pitiful. I can do better than that."

"'Ave a go, then. 'E's comin' back."

Ada turned just in time to have a Labrador's tongue smash against her cheek as he leapt up, licking as much of her face as he could, the stick dropped at her feet. Ada spluttered at the sudden onslaught, hearing Gene's laugh next to her as she fought him off and picked the stick up, catapaulting it away from them and watching as it landed in an ancient pram.

"Oh, good aim, now 'e can't get it back," Gene said sarcastically, watching as the dog pawed at the side of the pram, whining softly as the soft material refused to produce the stick. Ada shrugged.

"The wind caught it."

They turned to look at each other, Gene rolling his eyes, Ada sticking out her tongue, both equally childish and knowing it but locked in a staring contest.

A clatter made them both swerve round and stare towards the dog; he was heading back, the stick in his teeth, the pram on its side several metres behind him. Gene laughed, taking the stick and aiming for their Ford Model T and nodding at Ada with a smug expression as it landed right in front of it. The Labrador, slightly over-eager in its quest for the wood, smacked into the bonnet of the car, earning itself howls of laughter from both of the stick-throwers.

The only problem came when they tried to leave the dog there. It stuck like glue to Gene's heels, whining like a kettle, trying to lick his hands. The two stopped and regarded him, confused as to what to do.

"You'll have to let him follow you," Ada said, rubbing the dog's back and getting whipped in the leg by its delighted tail for her efforts. Gene extended a hand to the mutt, feeling its smooth creamy fur under his hand, trying not to fall in love with the dog and failing miserably.

"Maybe 'e can sleep in the shed, Mam never goes there."

He sent Ada ahead to unlock the shed, keeping the dog close at his heels as they got closer to the house, enticing him into the little shack with the stick he was so fond of. The dog curled up in one of the corners, panting happily, turning to snaffle the remains of an egg sandwich left there by Stu the day before. Ada wrinkled her nose as he belched happily, lying his head on his paws and giving a little sigh, his tail thumping against the side of the shed.

"We can leave the door open," Gene murmured, turning to retreat to his house, feeling the dog's eyes on him as they shuffled out, slinking out of view like a pair of petty thieves. Both expected the dog to come after them, but he didn't.

The only thing left was to decide on a name. Hydrangea was out of the question, as was Peony. Ada laughed at Hunter. Gene made sick noises at Cream.

In the end, the Labrador was unofficially named Billy. It was the only name that neither of them argued about.

* * *

Alex slowly opens her eyes to find herself cradling Gene's hand, pressing it against her clavical bone as Gene snores softly from the bed next to hers, light streaming in through the thin curtains. Her fingers run softly over his, finding rough, dry skin, scars criss-crossing, slightly bitten nails. _Gene bites his nails. Interesting. Lack of nutrients. He almost certainly does it unconsciously, maybe while he's sleeping. I've never seen him do it conscious._

She sighs at herself. _Stop analysing him, he hasn't even woken up yet! _Her eyes find his, the long lashes casting curved shadows on his cheeks, shifting between devil's scythes and dark streaks as he moves his head slightly, mumbling incoherently into the pillow before sliding into a deep sleep once again. Hoping it's safe, she removes her hand from his gently, letting it lie on her pillow, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckle as she eases herself off the bed to revitalise her hair in the bathroom, swearing gently as she realises that she's forgotten her comb and sneaking back through into the main room to borrow his. When she first walks in he looks to be dead to the world, but as soon as she starts rifling through his night bag his voice rings out.

"What're yer doin', Bolly?"

Alex jumps, feeling like a petty thief being caught, swerving to see him regarding her, confused.

"Not some psychiatry thin', is it? Lookin' through someone's night bag ter see what state o' mind they 'ad when they packed? Could 'ave a field day wi' yer own stuff."

"Sorry," Alex croaks, wetting her lips. "I forgot my hairbrush, I need to borrow your comb. Can I?"

"Fine, but next time, check I really am asleep before yer start 'avin' a look. Think I'll take yer off any cases that require observation, yer need a refresher course."

Alex smiles, retrieving the comb and holding it up to the light, reading the inscription on the metal as Gene lets himself fall back onto the pillows, pulling the duvet cover over his exposed body.

_To the Gene Genie, with all my love. Ada._

"This is from Ada?"

"Fer me twenty-first. No wisecracks."

"There weren't any in the first place. It's... sweet."

He examines her face carefully, watching as she carefully reverts to neutrality before turning to go back into the bathroom.

His voice stops her a yard away from the door, cool, slightly angry.

"We never 'ad a sexual relationship, Alex. She was my friend from child'ood, I was never once attracted ter 'er. Never. She was too good fer that."

Alex stalls, wondering if he means that she was too good to be treated so cheaply, or out of his league.

"No, Gene. I know that. I respect that. I'll get ready, you can sleep in a little longer."

She finally covers the yard towards the bathroom, leaving Gene in the empty room, only his thoughts for company and the now-cold bed. He sits down on the edge of it, wondering himself what he meant by that last remark. _Too good ter just be a shag, or too good fer me? Prob'ly both._

Although he retreats back under the covers and closes his eyes, he cannot get any sleep at all. Blaming the sun blazing through the thick curtains is useless.

He's wondering if Alex's reaction to his pronouncement was maybe a little... relieved.


	7. Chapter 7

It happens just as they are driving past the block of flats where Helga and Teo live, on their way back to London, everything finished up here. Gene has the window of the Quattro open, despite complaints from Alex about the cold and the wind, his hair whipping back against the headrest as he leans slightly forwards to change gear. Alex stares at it, mesmerised by the smooth movement, the golden gleam of the hairs as they catch the sun.

And then a gunshot rings out.

"Jesus!"

Gene swerves to a halt at the side of the road, jumping out, staring round at the block of flats to his right. Someone screams, and a window shatters as another gunshot cracks through the air; Alex gasps as she realises that it's one of the windows to Helga and Teo's flat.

Gene grabs her hand and pulls her towards the building, running flat out, so hard she can barely keep up with him in her high heels, surging towards the building and onto the stairs, up to the second level flat, ringing the doorbell furiously as another gunshot rings out.

"'Elga? Teo? Mr an' Mrs Mironescu?"

Gene bangs on the door as Alex peers in through one of the windows, trying to make something- anything- out in the gloomy lounge. No light seems to be getting through the thick curtains; the room is pitch-black, and she shakes her head at Gene as she steps back, seeing his jaw clench.

"Bloody 'ell..."

He makes to shoulder the door in, lining up, readying himself. Alex stands next to the door, ready to run in as soon as the path is clear, her heart pounding as Gene closes his eyes and runs, his body slamming against the door, rattling it, smashing it in its frame.

"Talk ter us!"

Gene runs in, switching the nearest light on.

Alex screams.

Helga and Teo are lying in a pool of their own blood, both unconscious, both still bleeding. Gene kneels next to them, pressing his fingers to their necks, his face falling as he looks up at Alex.

"Get an ambulance, but I'm not goin' ter be 'opeful."

He can't hide the tear that sneaks onto his cheek as she turns away to grab a phone and dial for the emergency services.

"Drop that now."

A deep, strong Romanian accent. Gene yelps out loud, swerving round; Alex stays completely still, not sure what exactly to do if this is the hitman.

A gun cocks and she knows it is.

"Who are you?" the gunman asks, and Gene carefully stands up, brushing blood off his hands.

"Gene Hunt. DCI of the Met Police. Nice ter finally meet yer, Mihai."

Alex dares to turn round. The barrel of the gun is pressed against Gene's throat, the man holding it shaking, his features convulsing as he fights for something to say. His olive skin is a reminder of Ada's, but the eyes are no more than slits, their dark brown clouded with tears and emotion. His old clothes are shapeless and dusty, more like a tramp's clothing than anything else; Alex is not sure what to make of Mihai Mironescu, but at the moment he is very capable of murdering her DCI, so she keeps quiet.

"And you, Mr Hunt. The legendary best friend of my sister."

"Do yer know she's dead?" Gene asks softly, arching his neck away from the gun a little, swallowing hard. Mihai nods.

"Yes, I have been informed of that. She was killed on your patch, and you have not found her killer yet."

"Why did yer shoot yer family? Yer mum, yer dad?"

Mihai's attention is fully on Gene; he seems to have forgotten that there is another person in the room. Alex quietly picks up the phone again, murmuring for two ambulances and giving the address in the quietest voice she can, her eyes darting between the two people lying barely alive on the living room carpet and Gene above them with the barrel of a gun resting coolly against his skin.

"Because they knew far too much. I told them too much. I heard them talking to you, telling you about Ada, but I did not hear your name or the name of your friend."

A gunshot screams through the air; Alex shrieks as the phone set in her hand shatters, destroyed by the bullet, shards of plastic flying everywhere. Mihai gives a grim smile.

"Sit down. We can talk properly."

* * *

Mid-winter, January 1946. The war was over, and Gene and Ada were freely walking across to the little park they fondly remembered setting on fire once, glad that they didn't have to worry about bombs anymore. The only fly in the ointment was the return of Gene's father from France- and so the return of the violent beatings his family was used to. Gene was thankful for the jumpers and trousers covering his body's injuries from Ada's sight, ashamed of the marks he sported from the many times his father had laid into him.

Ada was now seventeen, and more of a young woman than a girl anymore; her parents were keen for her to try and find a husband, as most ladies of her age did. Ada was reluctant, preferring to choose when and if she married, and Gene was supportive of her, privately hating the thought of her getting married, having someone else to spend all day with.

Not that he would ever admit it, that was.

Ada plumped down in the shade from the tree, exhaling out of the top of her mouth, ruffling her fringe. Gene took the body language as a sign and dropped onto his back next to her, watching her until she spoke.

"My parents have organised for another man to come round and see if he wants to marry me tonight."

Gene shrugged.

"Just say no. Even they can't force yer ter get married, Ada."

Ada smiled softly.

"It's not marriage I'm worried about, Gene. It's falling in love."

Gene frowned, turning to face her fully.

"Why're yer scared o' fallin' in love?"

Ada looked straight into his eyes as he spoke; he faltered slightly on the last word, half not wanting to sound like a poof saying it and half desperately worried about the look in Ada's eyes.

"You know about the world of adult love, don't you, Gene? You know about... what men and women do together when they're married?"

Gene nodded, unsure where this was going.

"I'm- Gene, I'm not ready for that world yet. I don't want to fall in love with a man or want to do that with them, because I just am not ready for it. My parents were married in their teens. I've seen more of the world than them, I want to do something with my life, I want to work and earn money before I have a family. But above all, I do not want to marry yet. I don't want a man in my life right now. That's why I don't want to fall in love."

Gene looked down at the floor, one hand finding a dead blade of glass and shredding into quarters, trying to think of a suitable response to Ada that wasn't simply "run away, then".

"Well... it's yer choice whether yer fall in love or not, isn' it?"

Ada stood up abruptly, leaving Gene on the floor below.

"I should have known this was a mistake. What would you know about love, Gene Hunt? You're twelve years old, you're barely old enough to smoke! You don't know anything!"

Gene froze, bending his head slightly, his heart hammering. Ada turned away abruptly, tears dribbling down her face, tears of frustration and pain; she'd hurt her best friend for nothing, not even for the truth. She tried to grab his arm, tried to apologise, but he yanked his way out of her grasp, standing up and heading back to his own house, side-stepping around Ada as she stood in his path.

"Gene, no, I'm sorry, I'm just stressed, I'm being an idiot- please, I'm really sorry!"

Gene ignored her, turning on his heel and stalking towards the shed housing Billy, wondering where he could take him for a walk and avoid Ada in the process. Ada grabbed his shoulders and forced him onto the floor, standing over him as he struggled, yelling at her to bloody get off his bloody shoulders.

"No, you'll listen to my apology and you'll hear me out. I'm stressed and I had no right to say what I did to you. I don't know what I'd do without you. I just needed someone to attack and there you were. I'm sorry."

Gene glared at her, pretending to go limp so that she let him go; the second her hands were back at her sides he was struggling up, evading her grasp and running, tripping halfway on a tuft of grass and being pulled back by Ada, sighing and giving up, trying to keep a grin off his face as she lay down next to him and wrote "sorry" on the back of his hand with her finger.

"Fine. An' Mum won' let me smoke yet. Says it stinks."

"She's right, but you'll probably be smoking as soon as you have the chance."

Gene puffed out his chest slightly, brushing dead grass off the knees of his trousers as they both got up, heading back to the tree to collapse once again under its branches. The ground was several degrees colder there, but it was their spot and had been since the Great Fire of 1942 and they weren't moving just to avoid numb rears.

"So yer don' 'ave a choice about fallin' in love?"

Something in Gene's chest clenched. So his mother had had no choice about falling in love with his dad. Did she just have bad taste in men? Had he been different all those years ago? All he could remember of his dad was the fists and the anger and the brutality; had he been someone else once?

"No," Ada said softly. "I'm worried I'll fall in love with a man and want to do these things when I'm not ready, and I'm worried that I'll fall in love with him and leave you alone."

Gene looked down, embarrassed, trying to hide his red cheeks. He wasn't fooling anybody, but Ada wasn't about to tease him for it.

"I don't want you to think I'm abandoning you or something."

Ada's arm snuck round Gene's neck, pulling him back to lie on the ground with her, their faces inches apart. Neither felt the slightest urge to kiss the other, and never had; their friendship was completely different from sexual attraction, and they knew it would always be the case. Ada reckoned it was simply because they'd known each other from such a young age; Gene jokingly said it was because he was out of her league.

"I wouldn'. No chance. I'd understand, Mum lost loads of 'er friends when she got married, 'cos she didn' 'ave time ter see them, wi' me an' Stu as well."

"And that's another thing," Ada said, sitting up again and tugging Gene with her; he was beginning to feel increasingly like a marionette, but bore it out. "Children. I don't know how to look after a child, I'm barely older than one myself. How would I care for a baby?"

"I thought it came naturally," Gene said, beginning to feel uncomfortable at the thought of Ada's future and, for that matter, his own. He'd have to do this stuff sooner or later, and although he was looking forward to the sex and such, the prospect of kids was daunting. He wouldn't have a clue how to be a good dad- and if there was the slightest chance of him turning out like his father, he would be running for the hills to protect them.

"Maybe, but I don't know! Surely somebody tells you what to do?"

Gene shrugged.

"I wouldn' know. I'm not even a girl."

"But you'll probably be a dad one day. That must be just as hard as being a mother."

"Only yer don' push somethin' the side of a watermelon out of yer arse when yer a bloke, not unless somethin' goes 'orribly wrong in yer life."

Ada laughed, her sunny chuckles lifting Gene's face into a smile as well.

"I suppose. Maybe I should talk with my mother about it. But thank you for offering an ear as well."

"No problem. 'S what friends are fer, apart from emptyin' yer savin's on their birthdays."

Ada elbowed him in the side, turning to head back to her house and waving to Gene as he went towards Billy's shed.

After all the slightly strange conversation about women, he felt like some male company for once.

* * *

"Sit down."

Gene slowly moves over to the sofa, easing his body onto it, his eyes never once leaving Mihai's. Alex tiptoes over to perch on the very edge of the chintz material next to him, feeling his hand warm against hers, grasping it hard to try and glean some comfort from it. Her finger finds his pulse, hammering at his hands, and she rubs her thumb over the skin, looking up at him and getting the briefest smile possible from him as Mihai looks out of the window, hearing a siren outside.

_Shit! The ambulance!_

Alex glances back down at the bleeding bodies of Helga and Teo, her hand once again contracting on Gene's as she sees Helga's pulse weakening, blood soaking into her greasy hair.

_I have to do something, to try and keep Mihai from killing the ambulance crew. Keep him talking, try to convince him this is a bad idea._

"Why are you doing this, Mihai?" she asks, looking straight at the young man, meeting his eyes so that he knows she's not keeping anything from him. He stares back evenly, a guard very similar to the one Gene raises so often in place, masking the emotion that he let run so abundantly into his eyes when Gene was looking. She feels a twinge of something; what's happened between these two men which would mean that he would treat her differently, or is it just because he was Ada's friend?

Mihai looks round at Gene once again, ignoring Alex as he steps closer; just for a split second, Gene's hand clenches on Alex's before he quickly lets go, standing up, the lion baring his primal heart.

"Put the gun down, Mihai. Yer outnumbered an' yer not goin' ter get away wi' this. This buildin' 'as cameras round it, they'll 'ave seen yer no matter 'ow yer got in. Put the gun down or yer'll spend the rest o' yer life regrettin' it."

Alex's breath catches in her throat as she realises Gene is bluffing; there are no cameras in this part of Manchester in all probability, never mind round this tacky council block. It's a tricky tactic, but it seems to be working, as Mihai's ever-desperate eyes flick to the door and back to Gene, seeing him take a cautious step forwards, getting those crucial few inches closer.

Mihai knows there is nowhere to go, and is unwilling to try and hide from the police officers; there is nowhere to go in the tiny flat, covered with his heritage, everything dear to the family he has tried to destroy. He aims the gun straight at Gene, his finger edging towards the trigger, but to his disgust he finds it is a lot harder to pull the trigger on the infamous Gene Hunt than it was on his own flesh and blood. His sister's voice echoes in his head, telling him all about Gene, her "English friend", and his flesh roils at the memories, his stomach turning.

"I've got to do this," he hisses, his voice low, dangerous, menacing, but still trembling. "I have to, for myself and for everyone else. You wouldn't understand. They did wrong, they left me in a world of hatred and violence and poverty and never once did they try to rescue their precious little boy! Their lovely little Mihai, the same child they left to rot in the cesspit they call London, lost in broken hope and despair and ravaged dreams."

"Could write a novel wi' that kind o' language," Gene growls, edging closer and closer, seeing the shake in Mihai's fingers as he pushes them towards the trigger. He still needs to psych himself up more, and that's not going to be easy for him, not with the Manc Lion coming towards him and his DI an eye-witness to the whole thing. Mihai closes his eyes for a split second, trying to focus on the blood of his parents, what he'd wanted to see most. He knows that the DCI will seize the chance, but he can't find it in himself to care. Not when his eyes are full of red, the scarlet liquid he'd longed so long for.

And then Gene's hands are grabbing out for the gun, fastening around the barrel, jerking it out of Mihai's secure grasp as the two men battle for domination, the gun swinging wildly in their hands like a puppet in a storm. Gene's hand grasps the handle, trying to uncock the gun, and Mihai jerks his elbow into Gene's stomach, taking advantage of the momentary winding to yank Gene's fingers back harshly and get a better grip on the trigger, trying to aim for his opponent, still fighting wildly as tears run down his face and dissolve into the blood on the floor.

Both stop as though frozen, in some ridiculous mime, as the gun fires and Alex screams.

* * *

A/N: Wow. I didn't think a sweet little thing like me would write such things. :P I hope you like it, anyway, and please please please remember to review! It would make my day, week, month, year, decade, millenium (actually I think I've missed one out there... have I? Centenery? I don't know :L). So please review! Thanks for reading. Jazzola :)


	8. Chapter 8

BANG.

Alex screams as the bullet thuds into the sofa by her leg, scraping the skin off her calf as it goes. Gene roars, forcing the gun from Mihai's grasp, yelping as the man jerks his elbow up and knocks the barrel of the gun against Gene's forehead, stunning him.

Mihai jumps to his feet and runs, slamming the door of the flat behind him, just seconds before the paramedics are running in, lifting Helga and Teo onto stretchers, pressing fingers to their pulses and hurrying them down as Gene gently picks Alex up to carry her down himself, seeing the trickle of blood on her leg, his fingers shaking as they press themselves against her flesh. The ambulance crew try to check him over too, and he shrugs them off, taking a long swig of whisky and glaring at anyone who so much as glances at the bruise blooming on his forehead.

To him, it is the mark of Mihai getting away. His failure to catch a wannabe killer.

Helga and Teo are rushed away under blue lights, with Alex following in the Quattro for stitches on her leg, Gene's suit jacket pressed to her graze as he drives like a wildcat through the Manchester traffic. Alex urges him to slow down, pressing her hand against his as he changes gear, smiling as he grunts and shifts into a lower gear, gently braking to reduce their speed a little.

"It's not hurting that much, it'll hurt a lot more if we have a crash," she tells him, smiling as he draws up on the double yellow lines near the hospital, shoving his warrant card onto the dashboard and gets out to lift her gently from the seat, heading towards A&E.

_How can such a coarse, rough man carry me so gently?_

The stitches are painful, but not bad enough to put Alex in agony; she grits her teeth and grasps Gene's hand as the needle slides in and out of her skin, smiling at his quiet groan as he looks over his bloodstained jacket. The grey material displays the scarlet marks to their highest gory potential, the contrast between the colours making the blood the first thing to draw the eye; shrugging it over his shoulder, Gene supports Alex as she walks out, trying to apologise for bleeding on his suit.

"I gave it ter yer ter bleed on, Bolls, it's fine," he says, sitting down heavily on a small plastic chair outside the Intensive Care ward where they have been told to wait for Helga and Teo. Alex eases down next to him, catching a brief shiver that he tries to hide.

"You're cold."

He doesn't deny or confirm it, simply sits forwards and runs his hands through his hair, exhaling hard. Alex watches him with sadness in her eyes, reaching out to tentatively rest her hand on his forearm, wishing she could do something to take away the pain he must be feeling.

"Wait here."

She stands up, walking out to the exit, leaving him in his own silence on the chair, watching the ward with half-closed eyes, wishing and wishing and wishing that all this would stop.

His vision is suddenly blocked by a familiar fabric; he starts as Alex pushes an ancient jumper he'd packed over his head, waiting for him to shove his arms in and then sitting down next to him, pulling him into a hug, hoping he won't move away. Gene sighs quietly, letting her hold him, trying to derive as much comfort as possible even though his macho façade tells him he should be moving away and that he'll regret this later.

"DCI Hunt? DI Drake?"

The moment is shattered by a doctor, walking forwards to greet the two, watching as they stand up with something approaching sadness in his eyes.

"They're very, very weak. I'm afraid there's a high chance they won't make it."

Gene drops his head, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone as the doctor leads them through to a side ward, closing the door gently behind them as they take in Helga and Teo lying motionless on two adjacent beds, weak, ragged breathing the only audible sound in the room through the beeping of the cardio monitors. Alex carefully approaches Teo first, watching as his chest stutters momentarily before resuming its weak rhythm, the man she had seen harbour such kindness in his grief-stricken eyes for Gene now at death's door. Gene moves as though in a trance to Helga's side, reaching out to touch the sleeve of her robe, not quite daring to touch her skin, hovering by the bed.

Almost as though it was planned, Helga's heart silently ceases.

Gene doesn't miss a beat in stooping down to her height, beginning to pump at her chest, counting out loud as his hands push at her body, willing her to come back. Alex hurries out to get a doctor as Gene continues, desperation fuelling him, yelling Helga's name as she remains still.

"Come on, Helga, please... Helga, fer me, fer Teo, fer Ada, please... Come ON!"

Gene furiously wipes away a tear as he carries on pounding, his own breath stunted with the effort of trying to bring Helga back, refusing to give up, crouching to breathe into her mouth, his heart hammering so hard he feels sick.

Just as Alex bursts back in with a team of doctors from the ward outside, Helga gasps, her hands jerking up as she drags oxygen back into her lungs, the doctors smiling in relief as one tries to pat Gene on the back and gets a glare for it. Alex hurries over to throw her arms round him; Gene, embarrassed, tries to gently fend her off and gives up as she simply clings harder. One of his hands finds Helga's, giving it a gentle squeeze as he lays it back onto the bed, wiping his mouth and steadying himself on the bedpost, the sudden surge of activity making him light-headed.

"Thanks, Helga," he murmurs, twitching a smile at the unconscious woman in front of him as her breathing steadies and she slips once again into a steady sleep.

Something inside him shifts slightly, and he stands up straight, pulling the Quattro keys from his pocket and turning to face Alex, seeing a tear welling in one brown-flecked porcelain eye.

"I'm not lettin' that bastard get away wi' this. Come on Bolls, we've got scum ter catch."

* * *

"Stu's goin' ter die."

"We all die, Gene. Why should your brother be any different?"

Gene sighed. He sometimes forgot that Ada had learned the English language, and that she didn't quite grasp all of its euphemisms and sayings yet. But he had more on his mind than tutoring Ada right now, and he badly needed someone to talk to.

"I mean he's goin' ter die soon. 'E's started doin' drugs. Gettin' 'igh. Mum won' stop 'im an' Dad doesn't give a shit. 'E'll overdose or be poisoned an' then 'e'll die."

Ada sighed, leaning back against the wall of the shed Billy had made his home. Gene was scuffing the wood with his shoe, refusing to look at her as he spoke, trying to hide his expression from her.

"Have you talked to him?"

Gene pulled at his sleeve to show five finger-shaped bruises, livid purple in colour, surrounded by lighter bruises. Ada winced.

"Yeah, I tried ter talk ter 'im. Got a nice little reward too."

Gene dropped his sleeve again and carried on scuffing the wood, looking up at the house, at the window of his and his brother's shared bedroom. Stu was in there, he knew, sleeping through the down after last night's high.

"I don't know, Gene. Carry on talking to him. Try to bring him round, bring him to his senses. Do you know anyone who's died of drugs?"

Gene nodded silently.

"Remind him of them, of their fate. Tell him that that'll be what happens to him too, if he doesn't stop."

Gene refused to meet her eyes, but nodded.

"I'll try."

Ada reached out to put her hand on his shoulder; he smiled slightly at the familiar feeling, the warm, rough skin with the little metal indent for her engagement ring. Gone were Ada's qualms about love and marriage, although she still behaved like a teenager.

"When's the weddin', 'ave yer decided yet?"

"Sometime in about the next two months. He wants to wait a little while for his family to arrive in the UK."

Gene had met Ada's fiancé the previous week, a young man who had also come from Romania to settle in Manchester, having been driven out of London by unemployment. He'd found a job sweeping streets in Manchester and, surprisingly, was enjoying it. A year ago, Gene would have said he was mad, but now he'd matured a bit he actually liked Ada's soon-to-be husband.

"Are the rumours right that you've been, as they say, having your end away with the nice girl from number twenty-six?"

Gene swerved to stare at her.

"They might be, yeah."

Ada laughed, trying to pull him into a hug, which he quickly dodged.

"Aw, Gene... where's my little Gene Genie gone?" she giggled, raising her eyebrows as Gene glared at her from under his fringe.

"Don' tell Mum, she reckons promiscuity is the biggest sin apart from bloody murder. She'd probably try ter get me ter church fer confession or somethin'."

Ada mimed sealing her lips closed, brushing splinters of wood from her skirt as Gene sat down on the dry dirt next to her.

"Stu says I should try drugs. Says they're fun. I'd rather eat me own balls."

"Jan wouldn't like that very much."

Gene knocked his head back against the wall of the shed; Ada, sensing that the time for joking was past, sat down next to him, trying to catch his eye and failing as he studied the ground.

"'E reckons Frank dyin' was an accident. Says it's safe if yer know yer limits."

"And we both know that's not true. He was an idiot, Gene, he took far too much and look where it got him. A nice cosy spot under a tree in the local graveyard. He was the same age as Stu, I bet they knew each other. Try to remind him what that was like."

Gene nodded.

"I will, but... I think 'e's become like Dad now. 'E doesn' seem ter like me anymore, or Mum. Just goes off an' gets 'is next fix."

Gene stared down at the floor once again. Ada's arm slid round his shoulders, sensing that he needed the comfort; Gene didn't move, but something began to defrost somewhere.

"All you can do, Gene, is try to stop him. Try to make him see sense. If not, he's a dead man walking. But that's not your fault, because you have tried. And don't try drugs. You know what they do to people. I don't want my best friend dead."

Gene nodded silently.

His mission began that night. He heard Stu's bed creaking, saw his brother's feet approach the door before his hand opened it and he walked straight into his brother.

"Gene, what're yer doin'?"

"Yer not goin' out tonight. I say so."

Gene stood his ground determinedly as Stu advanced on him, eyes wild, fists clenching. _Just like Dad. Intimidatin' me, tryin' ter scare me. Not goin' ter 'appen, Stu._

"Yer can fuck off, yer little bastard. It's my life an' yer not goin' ter control me!"

"No, I'm tryin' ter 'elp yer!"

Stu clenched his jaw, stepping closer, fury burning in his eyes, the brown eyes he had inherited from his father.

"I do not need 'elp from some pathetic, weedy little _child!_"

Even though Gene was the senior by two years, both knew that they were equally strong, and Gene didn't want to hurt his brother. Stu shoved hard at Gene's chest, catching him off-balance, kicking him when he was on the floor, punching every inch he could find as Gene curled up, trying to fend him off, landing a couple of punches himself, spitting out blood as Stu revved up for another round, knocking his brother's head back against the wall and kicking him down the stairs with a crow of triumph.

He walked towards the door, skirting past his brother's unconscious body on the hall rug, bleeding onto the pale fabric. For a second he felt a twinge of regret, but it was soon masked by his addiction to cocaine.

"Sleep tight, Genie boy," he whispered, closing the door softly behind him.

Gene's eyes opened a fraction at the sound of the door closing, taking in the sight of his brother's silhouette walking away, filled with pain and revulsion and hatred at himself for not stopping his brother. One fist contracted on the dirty floor, and he gave a quiet moan, trying and failing to push himself up.

He let himself drop back onto the ground again, closing his eyes and picturing Ada's face as he slid back into unconsciousness, reminding himself that there were people in the world who weren't there just to hurt him.

Somewhere.

* * *

There is nothing to examine at the flat; Gene and Alex have already seen it all. Gene is simply sitting in the Quattro thinking, one gloved finger tapping on the steering wheel, staring out at the street he remembers from his childhood. Just for a second, his memory flashes on finding his brother paralytic in that very gutter, lying prone in a pool of vomit, lugging him home for their mother to deal with. He disguises his shudder as cold. He has to keep his mind on the case.

"Maybe we should go back to the hotel, get some sleep," Alex suggests quietly, one hand sneaking across to rest on Gene's for a second as he looks round. He thinks over her words, nodding silently.

"Yer tired?"

"Exhausted. Bad day."

The attempt at a joke doesn't lift the mood in the Quattro much. Gene simply shifts the car into gear and sets off, checking the map once, his memories of this area deliberately erased after years of trying to forget the place.

They find themselves in the same room they'd rented before, with the same old dog on the rug; this time they let him stay, simply getting through the bathroom and into bed in silence, neither saying a word as they brush past each other, avoiding eye contact. Gene is thankful that every time she sees him, her eyes find something else; he is trying hard to keep his emotions from her without hurting her, and hopes she can understand that.

Helga and Teo's shooting has brought back everything that went wrong in and pertaining to Manchester: his abusive father, drug-obsessed brother, downtrodden, scared mother, Tyler's death, Ada's departure and death so recently. Each ghost haunts him as hatefully as the last, shrieking in his ears as he tries hard to push them away, lying down fully-clothed on the bed and covering his ears, hearing the click of the lock on the bathroom door and turning away to look towards the window, seeing the drizzle beginning and feeling his spirits sink a little lower.

_Bloody weather. When yer need just a little bit o' sunshine, it's suddenly wetter than a prozzie's bed._

The door clicks again, but Gene doesn't hear it; his eyes are fixed on the window, the replays of everything going to the dogs running like a film behind his eyes. The hollering of his drunken father echoes in his head as the thud of his brother's foot on his shin bangs in his memories, his mother's crying in the background as his car lies upside down in the river, next to a crumpled, disgustingly mutilated body with a bloodstained cloth handbag.

"Gene?"

Alex steps forwards tentatively, seeing his face, haunted by so many horrible things. _Why is he sad? He saved Helga's life! Surely that counts for something?_

"Gene, talk to me."

He can't help looking round at her, seeing her anguish, her confused voice slicing through the air to him. And when he looks, he can't stop himself.

A single tear slides down his pockmarked cheek as he turns.

"Oh... oh, Gene..."

"No," Gene says slowly, standing up, grabbing his bag. Alex stares at him, confused.

"I can't get close ter yer, because everythin' I get close ter turns ter shit. I'll sleep in the car, yer stay 'ere."

"No, Gene..."

It's no use. The door bangs dully behind him as he heads out into the rain.

Alex watches him walking out to the Quattro, opening it and getting in, curling up in the back seats. Her heart aches as the light goes out.

Sliding under the covers on her own bed, she gives a quiet sob, feeling the dog sneaking in next to her and clutching him as she drifts fitfully into sleep, tear tracks on her face and her hand whispering for Gene's.


	9. Chapter 9

_Why is there a bloody seat belt diggin' inter my back?_

Gene opens his eyes to a faceful of Quattro, the thickly-padded seats right in front of his nose as he sits up, trying to remember what happened yesterday.

_Helga an' Teo. Dyin', an' I resuscitated Helga. Mihai... bastard fuckin' Mihai. Stu in the gutter... no, Stu's long dead. Mihai gettin' away. Bolly gettin' injured. Everythin' I so much as look at turnin' ter shit. Run while yer can, Hunt's comin'._

His expression sours as he feels something very unwelcome on his face: the remainder of last night's tears. Scrubbing his hands over his face furiously, he props himself up on one elbow to see someone sitting in the front seat of the Quattro, slumped over.

_Manchester, 1973. A woman in the front seat... I failed 'er. Failed 'er too._

_Wait... that's not 'er..._

"AAH!"

Gene sits bolt upright, scrabbling for the door handle as the person in the front also screams, twisting round to try and grab his arm as he stumbles out of the car. It takes a minute for him to recognise her as Alex.

"Oh."

He stands there awkwardly, rumpled from sleeping fully-clothed, his cheeks slowly turning pink. Alex opens her door slowly, getting out and resting her elbows on the roof of the Quattro, forgetting about her bangles. Gene winces as they scratch against the scarlet paint.

"Careful o' yer bloody jewellery!"

Alex whips her arms back, examining the metal sheen of the Quattro for any damage.

"Relax, Gene, it hasn't done anything to it."

The elephant between the pair begins to grow. Gene shifts slightly, looking away, checking his rugged reflection in a puddle next to his feet. _Oh great. Lookin' shit. Just what yer wanted in front o' Bolly. Wait- I did not just think that! No, I didn' think that. I am not attracted ter Bolly at all..._

Alex walks round the Quattro, putting her hand on Gene's shoulder to try and get him to look at her. He does, albeit reluctantly; he can see the sadness in her eyes, but sadness for who he does not know.

"Gene, you... when you were asleep..."

"Why were yer there?"

Alex looks at the floor.

"I couldn't sleep, I thought it would be better for you when you woke up if there was someone there. I thought about what you said. You- you were so wrong, Gene. You really were so wrong. You're a caregiver, a protector, and the things that have happened to you in the past are not your fault. Your brother was a stupid idiot, your father was simply a bastard, your mother was as strong as she could be and you came out of the whole sorry mess the man you are today."

"Yeah. The man wi' the black fingers. Turnin' everythin' ter crap. Alex, yer not goin' ter make me feel better."

The words sting his throat; he knows they're not truth, but everything in his mind is confused, and he no longer knows which was is up, what to do, who to trust. Alex simply moves forwards to hold him, and he marvels at how, even after a few hours' cramped sleep in an Audi, she smells good.

"But- Gene, what about little Donny Cale? What about- about Alex Price? All the people you've helped? Marjorie and Bryan Drake, and Elsie Staines? You refused to break her heart even though it would have made you a hero. And all the people you've banged up, all the people you've saved from loss or murder or whatever those bastards would have done to them. You do so much more than you give yourself credit for, Gene."

Gene remains silent, scuffing his boot against the ground like a naughty schoolboy. Alex watches him, a tiny smile playing on her lips as she sees his vulnerability.

"I don' know what ter do, Bolls."

He finally looks up, his eyes meeting hers, and she can see the emotions struggling to get out from under their guard. Something inside her clenches. _He's the tough man, always has been, but he's confused, mourning, saddened. What has all this done to him? Not to mention what I heard him saying last night._

"Then just trust me, and we'll catch this bastard so you can lay your demons to rest," she murmurs, reaching forwards to grasp his hand and bring it to her own body, sheltering it in both of her hands. It's cold from the night in the back of the car, rough and dry and cracked, but to her it feels like the most precious thing in the world. Well, after the feel of holding her little girl.

"Gene, you will get through this. I know you're hurt because you've lost Ada, but you will catch her killer if you're determined enough. Just turn your pain and grief to solving the case and it'll be done in a flash, and we can get out of here. Yeah?"

He nods, once again not meeting her eyes. She drops his hand and it swings limply back to his side, hitting lightly against the thigh of one crumpled suit trouser.

"You go and get changed. I carried your bag back up last night, when you were- asleep."

Gene frowns at her tone of voice. The way she says it, it's as though there's something else she should tell him, but is reluctant to share.

"Bolls?"

She shakes her head.

"We've got to get on. I think we have to get back to London today, but I don't know. I'll call Viv and find out."

Gene accepts her silence, simply turning to head back to their hotel room. Alex walks at his side, watching him from under her fringe, the way his eyes flick hauntedly from side to side. _Jesus, I can't wait to get back to London. Away from the bad memories._

Gene opens the door, stepping in to head to the bathroom but freezing abruptly. Alex follows him, confused as to why he has suddenly stopped in front of her.

She looks up and realises why.

The room is wrecked and the dog lies dead in a pool of scarlet blood on Alex's bed.

* * *

Ada was taking a much needed break from housework in her new flat; Gene had been her first port of call, and she hadn't been surprised when he'd answered the door still in his pyjamas and sleepy from a long night out. From the smell of stale sex, she'd guessed he'd been with Janet Matthews for the previous night, but didn't pursue the point. Eventually he'd dragged some clothes on and a comb through his hair and headed out with her, Billy jumping at his heels but peeling off after a while to have a delve through the local bins, to town.

Manchester was still being rebuilt in places after Hitler's best efforts; they skirted round some scaffolding and headed further into the bustle, towards the shops Gene frequented- newsagents, tobacconist, off-licence- and the slightly seedier parts of town. One of the shopkeepers gave Gene a nod and mouthed something about sex; Gene simply nodded and carried on walking, avoiding Ada's gaze.

"Gene?"

He responded with a single nod, his eyes half-closed as he looked down at the pavement and then up at her through a mop of blond hair.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing with this Jan?"

He glared up at her.

"Just because I'm not married doesn't mean I know nothin' about sex an' relationships. Jan's fine wi' it an' I'm fine wi' it. OK?"

"And your mother?"

Gene tensed.

"She doesn' approve, but she can' stop me. It's my life, I can do wha' I want. Free country, isn' it?"

Ada stopped him with one outstretched arm, looking down seriously at him, seeing, for the first time, a little guilt in his bright blue eyes.

"You can't be like Stu, Gene. She can't lose both her sons."

"She 'asn't lost either of 'er sons! I'm still 'ere, aren't I? An' Stu, although fer 'ow much longer I don' know."

Ada motioned to a nearby bench, carved into a building by some boys a few years ago; Gene shrugged, sitting down on it with his hands in his pockets, the surly teenager down to the last point.

"Gene, your mother has brought you up to act a certain way. Both you and Stu have rejected it, him more so, but you have now as well. That, to her, feels like losing you. If you want to live life in a different way, that's your choice. But don't break her heart twice."

Gene stood up.

"I'm not tryin' ter break anyone's 'eart. I'm tryin' ter live my life an' it's 'ard when nobody's on-side an' nobody cares about yer anymore!"

"I care!" Ada protested, leaping up, letting her shawl fall off her shoulders as she grabbed Gene's arm. "I care about you, and so does she. Who cares about Stu or your father? Let them be idiots. You have got people who care, always will."

Gene reluctantly moved to sit next to her again, his eyes still narrowed. Ada drawing some sandwiches out of her bag sweetened him up, and they munched on cheese and pickle side by side, Gene's appetite voracious in the wake of his night and lack of breakfast.

"Oh, look at this, boys! Sharin' food wi' a nigger on our bench. Little Eugene!"

Gene looked up, supremely unconcerned, as long time nemesis Daniel Stephens approached with a group of boys by his side, all trying to look tough and failing miserably. One wiped his nose with a filthy handkerchief; another pulled his baggy shorts up and tried to clench his fists in what he imagined was a threatening manner, but simply made him look like an overgrown toddler clutching dough.

"'Ello, Daniel. 'Eard about yer rejection from Barbara Evans the other day. Pretty bit o' skirt like that wants a real man... one 'oo's balls 'ave dropped, preferably."

Daniel stepped forwards, the colour rising in his cheeks as Ada sniggered on the bench next to Gene.

"Yer shut up, nigger," he hissed in Ada's direction. "Go back ter yer cave an' out o' my country, stop cloggin' up the streets."

Gene leapt up and grabbed the lapels of Daniel's jacket, his eyes narrowed dangerously, lifting the other boy off the ground slightly. Daniel's gang moved forwards, one pawing at Gene and getting an elbow in the face for his efforts. Ada looked mildly impressed, mildly disgusted.

"Yer call 'er a nigger again, yer wankstain, an' I'll kick yer arse so fast yer'll end up in the middle o' the last decade. Why don' yer an' the rest o' the kiddies' club 'ere toddle off somewhere else an' leave us in peace, eh? Could go an' make a pass at another poor girl way out o' yer league if yer wanted, but I wouldn' recommend it."

Daniel punched Gene straight in the stomach, winding him, not prepared for the kick in the nuts he promptly received.

And then both boys were fighting, clawing at each other in the dirt of the street, headbutting and kicking and punching and biting and snarling like a pair of wildcats as the other boys cheered them on and someone yelled for a constable to come and sort out the brawlers. One jogged towards the scene, parting the group of yelling boys and reaching down to yank Gene up, leaving Daniel to scramble up and brush himself down, blood covering his face, still bent over from Gene's hit to the groin. Gene was in a similar state, blood staining his hair as he spat out a mouthful of scarlet liquid and fixed Daniel with a glare that would melt steel and many hardened criminals in the future.

"Would someone tell me what 'appened 'ere?"

Ada stepped forwards, beginning to speak, but the policeman cut her off almost as soon as she started her sentence.

"One o' the boys, please. Coloured people aren't reliable enough."

"She saw what 'appened, just the same as the rest of 'em!" Gene yelled, struggling in the PC's grip, itching to punch his lights out for being a racist tosser. The PC dismissed him, turning to talk to one of the boys and getting a very one-sided view of what happened.

"Excuse me."

Everyone went silent. Ada was stood straight in front of the constable, her hands on her hips, her mouth set in a straight line.

"I can speak perfectly good English. This person, Daniel, approached myself and Gene as we were masticating some food upon the bench to my rear, and began to lewdly and irritatingly verbally abuse both of our persons. He then encroached on the usage of racist language and Gene felt that he was, as of that moment in time, out of order and began to issue a penalty upon his physical person. Does that answer your investigation?"

The PC's mouth hung open slightly. Gene sniggered.

"Fine."

Gene was abruptly released, giving Daniel one last kick as he headed back to Ada and picked up her bag for her, handing it over and beginning to saunter away, only looking back to give Daniel's gang a quick middle finger. They roared after him, but were quickly disbanded by the PC, who knew most of their mothers.

_One advantage o' 'avin' a family like mine, eh? Nobody knows us, _Gene thought as he watched them go through slightly swollen eyes. His whole body was hurting, his head throbbed every time his feet touched the floor and he could still see slightly red, but it was worth it all to see Ada kick the bastard policeman's arse, in his opinion. And for him to get Daniel Stephens straight in the man-fruits. His grin widened, despite a missing tooth. _Ah well, was a milk tooth anyway._

Ada grabbed his arm, directing him round and towards her flat, tutting at his many injuries.

"You can never stay out of trouble, can you, Gene Hunt?"

Gene grinned, watching out for the familiar window as they headed towards the flat. The bright colours of the Romanian flag caught his eye, and he let his eyes rest on each as he limped towards the stairway, Ada's hand on his back.

Blue and yellow and red.

* * *

Alex is shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks, sitting silently in the foyer of the hotel as Gene and the owner sort things out upstairs with the dead dog in her bed. The blood-drenched sheets sting scarlet in her mind's eye, mangy brown fur spiky with coagulated muck as two huge brown eyes stare lifelessly at the pillow her hand had lain on with Gene's clutched in it. Her tissue is soaked through with the tears, even though she doesn't really know why they're coming other than the shock.

Gene's voice echoes from up the stairs, and something else bursts into her memories: his tears soaking into the back seat of the Quattro as he tosses and turns in turbulent unconsciousness, the way he grasps her hand when she reaches out to him, completely unknowing of what he's doing or revealing to her.

His hoarse voice...

_"Stu... Ada... please God, no, please, don', they... no. Helga, Teo... 's my fault... none o' them... punish me, leave them!"_

Did he really blame himself for all their misfortunes?

Her head turns towards the stairs at the sound of footsteps, and she sees the large bin bag one of the employees is carrying out, stained with red, and bursts into tears once again, grasping at Gene's hands as though it'll bring the poor hound back if she crushes his knuckles. Gene winces.

"Bolls, it's a bit 'ard ter beat up scum if both yer 'ands are in plaster."

She looks straight up at him, nodding determinedly, releasing his hands and wiping the pads of her thumbs across her cheeks. Gene reaches up to stroke her tears away, and for a second the two of them are caught in their own small world, blue eyes burning into green, breath stunted, hearts jumping.

And then the dog's body is dropped against the wall and Alex shakes herself out of it, seeing colour rise up Gene's cheeks as he also looks away, turning towards the dog, his expression scathing.

"Could give the poor mutt a little dignity, wouldn' kill 'em."

She looks back at him, and the glint is back in his eyes; the Gene Genie's determination is refreshed, and he wants to get the bastard. Her own face splits into a smile.

"Come on, Bolls. Let's go get the bastard."

* * *

A/N: Hope you like it! Learned about racism in post-war Britain in history, and I reckoned Ada would've encountered some, unfortunately. Please remember to review! Thanks, Jazzola :)


	10. Chapter 10

"Guv? 'Ow was Manchester?"

"No idea," Gene says simply, striding into his office and shrugging his coat off, reaching for the familiar bottles of scotch behind his desk and grabbing a tumbler from the filing cabinet. Alex, following behind him at a safe distance, hurries in and seats herself behind her desk, drawing Ada's files out and beginning to read as Ray approaches her, eyes flicking from her to Gene's office as he lowers his voice.

"Er, Boss, 'e was OK, wasn' 'e?"

Alex looks up, closing the files abruptly.

"DCI Hunt was fine. Not that it's any particular concern of yours, DS Carling."

Ray shifts slightly.

"Nah, just... wonderin' what kind o' mood 'e'll be in fer the next few days."

"Well, let's think, shall we? He's just lost a long-term friend, he's beating himself up for failing to protect her parents, who are thankfully recovering in hospital, and he's angry about failing to apprehend the suspect. I don't think he'll be skipping around the daisy fields myself, Carling."

"If yer quite finished wi' yer WI meetin', ladies, maybe yer could get on wi' some work?" Gene growls from his office, but there's no real malice behind it and he retreats to the files propped up on a couple of scotch bottles on his desk as soon as Ray is seated again. Alex watches him covertly from behind her own files, seeing the way his eyes flick from word to word, how he sucks his breath in occasionally and lets it out again in a long, deep sigh. The tear tracks are long gone from his skin, but they wouldn't have been out of place.

The witness statements from the shooting glare back at Alex in the harsh CID light; she takes a heavy breath herself, beginning to read, noting down points listlessly on a pad next to the statements as Chris and Ray twiddle their thumbs and gaze around the room, half daydreaming and half watching out for Gene's temper to flare. It doesn't, much to the surprise of CID; Gene stays almost silent for the whole day, simply flicking through paperwork and thinking.

Alex can see the tension beginning to build in the office as Gene remains silent, poring through file after file, his eyebrows pushed together in concentration. Shaz motions for Alex to go in there and see what's up with him; after hesitating for a while, she gives in and stands up, pushing her chair back and getting a "good luck" from Chris, heading towards the lion's den.

Gene swerves up as the door opens to reveal his DI, leaning back slightly and taking a healthy swig of scotch to bolster himself a little. Alex walks over to perch on the desk behind the files, her eyes meeting his, brown-flecked green onto bright blue.

"Yes, hello, what?"

Alex looks down at the pad next to his hand, seeing it blank apart from a smudge of ink from the ballpoint abandoned next to it. _Well, he does have a good memory. Bastard can remember every case since he started on the force, it seems to me. Jesus, he is rubbing off on me, I'm even starting to sound like him now!_

Shaking her head to try and stop herself, she motions to the files, her head on one side curiously.

"What're you thinking?"

"They all say the same thing, Bolls, that a man's silhouette was seen runnin' away a couple o' seconds after it 'appened."

She notes his hesitation to talk about exactly what happened to Ada, quietly urging him to carry on.

"Nobody saw 'is face or identity, or 'eard 'is voice. Sounds like 'e went in a back way- wouldn't 'ave been 'ard, they don' tend ter lock the doors often- an' did it without sayin' anythin', not even a warnin'. Bastard- just in an' bang. No word ter Ada."

His voice tails off as he becomes a little more self-aware and looks down at the desk. Alex smiles, reaching out under the desk to shyly brush her hand against his, letting the sparks rush between their bodies as his eyes meet hers.

And for a second, the world melts away, and there is just each other and their burning gazes, their personalities and eyes swooping together and captivating them in their own universe...

The door of Gene's office bangs open, making both jump and turn, seeing the Superintendent standing a metre or so away from them, scrutinising them as Gene stands up and straightens his suit and Alex brushes herself off sub-consciously and crosses her arms, giving the Super a smile.

"Yes, sir, what can we do fer yer today?" Gene asks, his back ramrod straight with embarrassment. The Super faces him directly, one hand sneaking over to the files and picking them up, skimming through them for a second before dumping them back on the desk and clasping his hands in a show of fake regret.

"Well, Gene, we've been told- by your unfortunate accident at the crime scene- that you are personally involved in this case, that you were a close friend of the victim."

Gene's lips tighten at the Super calling Ada "the victim", but he bears it out, simply nodding jerkily. The Super sighs.

"You see, Gene, I can't let you continue with this. You're too personally involved, your judgement will be marred by your feelings. I'm not going to accept you heading this case. I'm afraid you are, as of now, dismissed from the Adriana Mironescu murder case."

Alex waits for the screaming, the shouting, the blatant, complete refusal to vacate his office. But what she gets is complete silence. She turns to see Gene frozen, hands in pockets, his face blank of any emotion at all.

When he does speak, it is in a tone so flat it could have belonged to a table top.

"Yes, sir."

And without another word, he turns and grabs the Scotch bottle from his desk, walking out of the room and along to the double doors, vanishing quietly as the whole office falls silent in his wake.

* * *

She found him kicking a ball against his wall, running after it as it bounced off at an awkward angle. He'd never been the best at football, clumsy and no ball control, but when he kicked you had to run. It was hard to believe there was so much power in those skinny legs.

"Gene, I need to talk with you."

Gene turned, picking the ball up and shoving it under a bush as he faced her. She felt her heart ache as she studied his features: the bright, intelligent eyes, the genteel face, the elegant curve of his nose. Her one real friend here in Manchester, and she knew she owed him a debt she could never repay for it.

"Yeah?"

Gene stood up straight, brushing his trousers off, his eyes meeting hers. She looked away, missing his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Everything about her screamed evasive; she was hiding something, although what he didn't know.

"Gene, I- I've been talking with Simu. He wants to go back to Romania."

Gene's face blanked with shock.

"Right," he managed to whisper, his body beginning to tingle as he visualised Ada's next words. She bowed her head, fiddling with her fingernails, unable to meet his eyes as she whispered her next words.

"Gene, I have to go with him, I'm his wife. So I'm- we're leaving for Romania in a couple of days."

Gene's breathing stopped.

His muscles were frozen with shock, and although he attempted to say something his mouth was too dry and numb to create words. Something slid down into his stomach at the same time as cold piercing his heart, throwing it into a pit of knives and instantly mashing it. He swore it had stopped beating. His eyes found Ada, looking down at the floor, evidently expecting an answer from him.

What could he say? That her going was losing the one person he could be close to in the world? That her leaving would rip him apart from the inside out? All his life, he had looked for someone he could trust. And now that person was going.

Ada murmured a prayer to herself that he would take it OK, ask for her new address, wish her well, say something about Simu's decision- say anything.

When she looked up, only getting silence, he was gone.

"Gene? Gene, where are you? Gene!"

A street away, Gene heard her voice, but didn't turn back. His whole form burned with agony at the thought of Ada's imminent departure; her hand landed on his shoulder as she caught up with him, panting, but he shrugged it off.

"Oh, Gene, I'm sorry, I really am. I tried to explain to him-"

"Don' bother."

Gene's voice was as cold as the iceberg gathering in his chest. Ada flinched as though he'd struck her physically.

"Gene, I promise, I tried to talk him out of it, but he wants to go back to his family. I tried to sat that you're like family to me, tried to say about you, but it didn't work, I-"

"Don' worry," Gene said softly, emotionless, stopping in the middle of the street, Ada's breath rushing on his shoulder as she bent as close to him as he would allow. "Yer real family's more importan'. 'E's made up 'is mind. Yer can' stop 'im, nor can I. It's nothin' ter do wi' me anymore. Yer go ahead, make yer own life."

There was no trace of humanity in his words; it may as well have been a robot speaking. Ada tried to grab him, hug him to get some warmth back into him, but he slinked out of her grasp, beginning to walk away again.

"Genie..."

His pet name stopped him. He turned slowly, seeing tears running down Ada's cheeks, her voice cracked and desperate as she reached out to him, holding her arms out like a little child seeking reassurance.

"Genie, don't leave me. Please. I can't leave you knowing I've hurt you and you haven't forgiven me. You mean too much to me for that. I don't want to go, I have to. Gene..."

Her voice faded away, and she shook her head, her mouth forming incoherent words as Gene moved slightly closer. Her eyes fixed on his as she reached out further, taking a step towards him, finally making the noises she wanted to.

"Gene? Gene? Help me, Gene... help me!"

And then he was running towards her, lifting her up in a huge hug, letting her bury her face in his shoulder and cry, gently letting her down as she murmured his name into his shirt, running his hands over her back and whispering reassurance to her, that he'd always be there for her, that he'd always be her friend no matter what, that she meant too much to him to be let go like this.

Ada sniffled, drawing her face out from his skin, looking up at the boy she harboured more sisterly love for than for her own brother. Gene was dry-eyed, completely devoid of tears, but the emotion was everywhere on his familiar face, his smooth features.

"I never wanted to go," she said gently, reaching up to smooth his hair away from his face. He flicked it back, his eyes still fixed on hers as her lips brushed his cheek, salt tears running onto his own face. Her hand found his, scarred from fighting and his father's punishments, and grasped it hard, as though she would never let go for as long as she lived.

"Adriana! GET AWAY FROM HER!"

They turned as one. Simu was running up the street, towards Gene and Ada, fury in his eyes as he tumbled at Gene, punching him hard in the face, kicking him as he fell onto the street, coughing and gasping. Ada screamed at her husband, pulling him off Gene as he doubled over on the pavement, clutching his abdomen. Simu grabbed Ada's shoulders and yanked her away bodily, spitting at the helpless teenage boy retching up blood into the gutter.

"You keep away from my wife," he hissed at Gene, throwing Ada backwards and walking back to kick Gene one more time before drawing away, watching as Gene looked up at him, blue eyes filled with pain.

"I was just sayin' goodbye ter my friend," he gasped, his eyes flicking towards Ada. Simu's face filled with red-hot fury for a second before he turned and saw that Ada was nowhere to be seen.

"Adriana? Adriana! _Vin aici!_"

He ran, forgetting the young man lying behind him, watching with a faint smile on his face as he turned to see Ada running the opposite way, away from her husband.

She couldn't run forever, she knew that. But she could say her goodbyes.

And anyway, he'd faked most of the pain. Of course.

Still, didn't mean that him combing most of Manchester for his wife wouldn't be a nice plan for revenge for beating him up.

Gene Hunt could do sneaky as well as anyone.

* * *

Alex finds him in Luigi's, downing a scotch with his eyes on the window, one hand absent-mindedly rubbing over his arm as he sits immersed in memories, his eyes far in the past. She settles into the seat next to his, touching his skin as he turns and immediately returns to his whisky.

"I've filed a statement saying that your judgement is not impaired and that it would be best if you were reinstated to the case immediately. I don't know how long it'll take to be read and such, or if it'll work, but it's worth a try."

"Thanks," he says quietly, his finger tracing the rim of the scotch. Alex stoops slightly to see his face.

"What're you thinking about?"

"Well, if I told yer that, I wouldn' 'ave the devastatingly attractive air of mystery that makes me so in demand wi' the ladies."

Alex smirks, her hand finding its way to his thigh as he clocks it, his eyes wide, and stares at her.

"Yer windin' me up, Bolls?"

"No," she says simply, a smile on her own face. "You just said it yourself, it's your air of mystery that's drawing me in." Retrieving her hand, she stands up, picking up his whisky and making to drain it herself. He yelps and makes a grab for it, hearing her laugh as they fight over the whisky and then the shriek as it spills over her polka-dot blouse.

"Shit," they say in unison, Alex rubbing at her sodden clothes with her hands and Gene yelling to Chris for a towel to "dry the DI up". Before she can say anything he's rubbing the liquid off her chest, his hands gentle on the flimsy fabric; she feels his fingers squeezing a little on her breasts and wriggles out of his grasp, trying not to make it obvious that she didn't mind that much, catching his self-satisfied look before he tosses the towel onto the table and pulls his hip-flask out, taking a healthy swig of single malt as he checks her out, sodden and her top all but see-through, his eyes glistening as she hurriedly grabs the towel and holds it up to protect her dignity.

"Better get up ter yer flat, Lady Bolls, yer goin' ter need ter look respectable."

Alex frowns, rearranging the towel and fixing him with a look, confused.

"Why, are we going somewhere?"

"We are. Since 'Is 'Ighness in Super Castle 'as decided I'm off the case, I'm goin' ter start doin' my own investigation inter the death of Ada Mironescu. An' yer can 'elp me by gettin' me the files from CID and throwin' the Super off the scent."

Alex smiles as she recognises the indirect plea for help. They aren't really orders, although anyone watching would think they were: it is Gene's way of asking her to aid him, to be on his side when the rest of the world is conspiring against him. And right now, she would do anything to be his rock in the tumult of the world that Ada has left.

"Of course, Guv. I'm sure CID can have copies made, or can cope for a day or two. We know the data off by heart, anyway."

Gene gives her the ghost of a smile, leaning against the brick wall outside her door as she hurries in to get a new blouse and get herself respectable again, sighing on her way in that she reeks of whisky.

Something down below Luigi's catches his eye, and he freezes, seeing someone heading towards the door of the trattoria, a glint in their hand.

They look up at the stars, letting their hair fall back for a moment, and Gene's breathing stops.

Mihai Mironescu is heading for Luigi's, with a gun.

* * *

A/N: Hope you liked it! Please remember to review. Thanks hugely for reading, and please, please do review, it actually makes my week, no joke! Jazzola :D


	11. Chapter 11

Gene's heart feels like it has stopped beating as he sees the flash of the barrel, secured within a grubby hand as the man sneaks towards the entrance of the trattoria, silent in the cool night. Without a second thought he grabs his own gun, running down the steps to grab the man from behind, not prepared for the elbow that swings his way, ramming into his face and stunning him.

Alex screams from above as Mihai Mironescu turns and grabs Gene by the scruff of the coat, like the mangy, ill-fated dog in the Manchester hotel, holding the gun to his temple and leaning down so that his filthy hair brushes against Gene's stinging head.

"Why should I not kill you? Tell me this, and I will not blow your brains out."

_I've been threatened with death many times before, sonny, an' yer no different, just some stinkin' tramp off 'is 'ead on insanity._

But although Gene's thoughts are defiant, his small voice says otherwise when he speaks.

"Because I'm the one remainin' link left ter Ada. Yer sister. Remember 'er?"

Mihai laughs, leaning down even further, so Gene can smell the stale body and hatred coming off the man. He suppresses a retch.

"Remember her? Mr Hunt, I killed her."

Gene's blood runs cold.

The man now holding him hostage is Ada's killer.

Above him, a gun quietly cocks.

"So, Mr Hunt. You say you are one last remaining link to Adriana. That mean you are the only one who can have me put to justice. I do not want justice for me. I want to be free, to punish my family for what they do in the nineteen forties, they give me up, they abandon me. They must pay, and you too, because you not let me."

His broken English tells of his excitement at holding the one person who can destroy him in his hands. His fingers tighten on the trigger and Gene struggles, his face contorting as his elbow hits the gun, thrusting it away from his body.

It explodes in his ear, a deathly bang, its echo ringing in his head as Mihai screams, trying to grab Gene again and getting an elbow in the face.

"Guv?"

Gene turns, pushing Mihai to the pavement and seeing Ray, Chris and Shaz doing the same, Alex hurrying down the stairs to join them.

For a second he debates whether he should leave it to them. But Ada's spirit urges him to lean forward and speak the words he has dwelled on for so long.

"Mihai Mironescu, I am arrestin' yer fer the murder o' Adriana Mironescu an' the attempted murders o' Helga an' Teo Mironescu, an' two counts o' assaultin' a police officer."

And then the reading of the rights, which washes over both Gene and Mihai completely.

They are too busy trying to defeat the other simply by looking.

Ray and Shaz haul Mihai up, glaring at him in total and utter hatred as they drag him off towards the station, knowing that this will be one culprit Gene won't want in the Quattro. Alex stands up as well, moving towards Gene, seeing the starts of the black eye from Mihai's hit on his face.

"You need some ice."

"What, ter shove it down that scrote's throat until 'e chokes on it? Sure 'is 'eart'll be about that temperature."

Alex smiles.

"It's over, Gene. We've caught Ada's killer. She can be at peace now."

Gene looks up at her, and Alex freezes, her breath catching in her throat: she cannot see one ounce of happiness in Gene's eyes at all. They are haunted, dark, soulless.

He speaks again, in a soft, threatened voice.

"No, Alex. She was murdered by the person she came 'ere ter find an' 'elp, fer somethin' she didn' do. I dunno if she'll ever rest in peace."

"Gene..."

Alex reaches out, trying to offer her condolences. He shrugs her off, heading for the Quattro, every cell of his body trying to tell Alex that he wants to be alone.

Her eyes fill with tears as he goes.

* * *

Gene kicked the side of his house, every tiny part of him filled with fury. Inside, his mother sat weeping, trying desperately to look as though she was grieving, surrounded by sympathetic and kindly friends and the rest of his family. His brother would be in some alleyway somewhere, either high or asleep. Either way, he was blissfully unaware of the rest of the world.

And him?

He was stuck kicking the brickwork, trying to vent his anger on the weather-worn brick, left with a heart full of acid.

Stephen Hunt had dropped dead of a heart attack in the early hours of that morning, drinking in the Fox and Hound. His mother had cried at first, but the tears had soon dried. She was free of the tyranny that had ruled the house ever since he had come back from war; she had much to be thankful for. Stu probably didn't even know yet.

But Gene had lost so much more than just his father.

He had tried to tell his father how much he was destroying the family. He remembered the man who had read him childrens' books in bed when he was very little, putting on funny voices for the characters and making Gene laugh. And then he remembered the man who had come home from the war. Mangled. But not in any physical sense. He was destroyed from the inside, the tumour on the inside growing and growing until it eclipsed the laughing man Gene remembered and left a monster in its place.

His hand went up to feel the thick scar just in front of his right ear. Christmas; his father had tried to stab him with the turkey knife and caught his scalp just where it was the most painful. He sighed. There were too many scars and bruises to count, and besides, some of them were where he'd never reach them.

And then, when Gene and Stu could take him on, then came the man who would persecute him with words, telling him how he was a disgrace, how becoming a copper was joining the massed ranks of filth, ridiculing his son's every dream and desire, filling Gene with sadness and self-doubt, the master of bullying. Then Gene had turned the knife on himself. If the rest of the family had noticed, they hadn't said anything. Gene self-consciously pulled his sleeves down, looking round to see if he had company. No, he was alone.

Just how he liked it.

He aimed another kick at the brickwork just as his mother came out, silently walking over to him, tear tracks on her face.

"Gene, dear?"

He turned, looking at her. She tried to avoid his eyes, knowing what she'd see there. The expression of a boy who had had too much sadness in his young life.

"The phone fer yer. Ada."

Gene's eyes snapped to hers, and she smiled, seeing his face light up at the prospect of speaking to someone so dear to him.

"Ada?"

"Yes. She's got some news for you."

Gene was in the house in a flash, running through to the phone and snatching it off the cradle, turning away from the curious eyes of the neighbours huddled in the kitchen, reaching out to his mother as she came back in.

"Ada?"

"Gene Genie!" an over-excited Romanian squealed down the phone, laughing as he tried to protest. He strongly suspected she was thoroughly over-excited and probably glad to be away from her husband.

"How're yer?" He wasn't going to divulge his bad news right at the beginning of the conversation.

"Much has happened here. Simu's hitting every man who looks at me and drinking again. So I've made friends with some other women here. Mum and Dad miss England, they want to go back. I was pregnant, but the doctor said something happened and I- I lost the baby."

There was sadness in Ada's voice now. Gene bowed his head.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's not your fault. And how are you?"

"My dad died this morning."

He didn't mean for it to come out so bluntly, but it did. There was silence, in which Ada tried to think of something to say and the people in the kitchen shuffled away quietly.

"Oh. I- I'm sorry."

"It's great fer Mum. No more beatin's. Great fer Stu too. Might be the wake-up call 'e needs."

"And you?" Ada said softly.

Gene studied the dowdy living-room carpet, the ghosts of blood-stains slightly visible from a few years earlier. _Mum, thrown against the cabinet, blood soakin' from 'er 'ead as she screams fer me an' Stu ter run. _He shook himself back to the present.

"I'm fine, Ada. Really."

He could hear Ada biting her lip on the other end of the line, thinking about what he's said. Considering she'd been in Romania for six months, her English was surprisingly good.

"No, you're not. You wanted to turn him round again. And anyone would be sad to lose their father."

"Well, I'm not. So drop it, Ada."

Ada sighed.

"You don't fool me."

"Just 'ave my devastatingly attractive air of mystery. Not tryin' ter fool anyone."

"Gene," Ada whispered. "It's OK to grieve, it's OK to be sad. You don't have to hold up the tough man façade all the time. You're you. Be proud of it."

Gene hung his head, staring down at the floor, wincing as the sun came through and spilled onto the carpet, hiding the blood-stains. Suddenly they were gone, the startling reminder of his past hidden by a few rays of sunlight, banished with the light.

Slowly, carefully, feeling as though every muscle in his face was urging it on, a smile spread across Gene's gaunt features.

In Lancashire, a scarecrow gave a lopsided smile as the sun beat on its shoulders.

* * *

Predictably, Alex finds him drinking and chain-smoking in his office, the cloud of cigarette smoke enough to make her cough as she fights her way in and opens the door to clear the air, revealing Gene sat in the corner, head bowed, three empty scotch bottles next to him. She sits down next to him; at least two of those scotch bottles were empty this morning, and they both know it. For some reason, he still feels the need to put them there, as though they are a barrier against the real world, against the sadness.

"Oh, Gene," Alex says softly, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder, feeling him shift slightly so that her head won't fall off and bang on the wall. Ever the protector.

"More shit," he says softly. His eye is swollen shut, paying nasty testament to the gun's power against his flesh even unfired; she reaches up to gently press a finger to it, feeling him flinch back as soon as she does.

"Gerroff."

"Sorry. You need some ice."

She stands up, going out into the office and through to the fridge, grabbing the ice pack she keeps in there just in case. Gene squints at it as she comes back in, down an eye and contesting with the bright lights, a huge difference to the darkness of his little corner. In her peripheral vision, Alex sees Shaz walking towards the doors, stopping as she sees Gene defeated in the corner and Alex holding the ice, and quietly walking past.

"Tell Shaz it isn' what it looks," Gene says softly as Alex sits down, holding the ice to his face. Alex frowns.

"What?"

"I saw 'er. Tell 'er it's not what it seems."

"Nothing ever is with you," Alex smiles, holding his hand up to the ice, only letting go when she's certain that he won't just let his hand flop back down onto his lap. He watches her with one staggeringly blue eye, only making eye contact for the briefest of seconds, peeling at his nail with his thumb on his free hand. She gently picks it up before he does himself any more damage, nestling it in her lap and running her fingers over his scarred knuckles.

"Alex, yer know what I said," he murmurs, his eyes on her lap. "Everythin' I get close ter-"

"Oh, Gene, you don't believe that really, and nor do I," Alex sighs, reaching over to stroke his cheek, feeling her heart beating harder at the gentle intimacy of the whole thing. "You're such a good man underneath. You must've been to become Ada's friend, from all I've heard about her."

Gene shakes his head.

"Yer 'ad ter talk ter Ada ter know 'er. Couldn' just judge 'er on a description."

"No, I judge her on your memories, and on what I know of her," Alex says, shifting so that she is pressing her body against Gene's. He stiffens momentarily, loosening himself deliberately, letting her mould her form to his, watching her.

_There's nothing else for it, _Alex thinks.

Slowly, deliberately, she leans forwards, gently taking the ice away from his eye, and kisses him.

Gene's mind blanks with shock; all he can think about is the fact that Alex Drake, his sexy, beautiful, intelligent, brave, sure, firm, demanding, argumentative, by-the-book, wonderful DI is kissing him, snogging him like a lovesick teenager in his office.

And he likes it.

Slowly he responds to her, feeling more than hearing her murmur of approval, his hand winding round her waist, cool from the ice, as hers slide into his thick hair and pull him to her, claiming ownership of him, giving him her dominance. To her surprise, he accepts it, ducking down slightly as though to submit, running his tongue lightly over her lips but only letting it slide inside when she opens her mouth to grant access. She smiles against his mouth, running her hands down into his shirt, her fingers running over his taut muscles as they stretch and contract under her touch. She feels his smoothing down her arms with a note of surprise, reaching up to ease them further in and hearing his growl of appreciation rumbling through his throat to hers.

After what feels like an eternity of gentle lips and warm skin and opposite bodies, they break apart, watching each other, smiling into each other's eyes. Alex leans over to rest against him, winding her arms round him, feeling him do the same for her and beaming as his warmth envelops her.

"I told you, Gene," she murmurs into his hair, lying against him on the floor of his office, the checkerboard tiles stark beneath them, muted with their happiness. "You are most definitely one of the good guys."

Gene whispers his consent, dipping his head down to rest on top of hers, feeling her form against his and thanking whoever sent Alex Drake his way.

In one corner of his eye, he sees Shaz hurrying away, her eyes wide, a beam with luminosity to rival the Sun on her lips.

In the other, he sees a familiar brown-skinned woman, her expression warm with years of kindness, work-worn hands clasped together, nut-brown eyes sparkling with joy.

He knows then that Ada Mironescu is not dead to him.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry this is so late, coursework (my school lost it so I have to re-do it- talk about unfair!) and general stuff got in the way. Hope you like it, and please, please review! It really does make my day. Thanks for reading. Jazzola :)


	12. Chapter 12

Gene slowly opens his eyes to get a faceful of morning sun streaming in through Alex's curtains, curled up with her on top of her bed with his DI's head resting on his shoulder. They are both fully clothed, though; he knows Alex is not a tart, whatever he might say about her, and all they did the night before was come back to her place and snuggle up for the night. For a second he resents the lack of action- she has destroyed his motto on women in one night- but when she shifts gently and presses a butterfly kiss to his neck he rethinks.

"Gene," she murmurs, nuzzling into his neck as he turns to face her, her hand sliding onto his stomach as her breath ghosts over his cheek. He resists the urge to let Sergeant Rock stand to attention, instead thinking very hard of the dishcloths in Luigi's to repress it.

"Mornin', Bolls."

Her eyes open slowly and she smiles, a radiant, genuinely happy smile that has his throat in his mouth.

"Hello, Gene."

He realises she has been lying on his hand for the whole night; as he moves it, pins shoot up his arm. His swollen eye has begun to calm down, the angry, vivid colours dulling to a velvety purple, the lid opening enough to allow him about half his normal sight.

"Bloody 'ell."

He shakes his lifeless hand, trying to get some life back into it, his face contorted as the stinging pain from it washes through his arm. Alex takes it in both of her hands and smooths them over it, feeling his calloused skin beneath hers, the dent from a cast-off wedding ring, the scars on his knuckles. Her fingers find a new scar on his palm, running through the smooth skin, and she frowns, lifting it up to the light and looking hard at it. Gene looks too.

"1948. Dad tried ter run my 'and through with a piece o' shrapnel from the bombin's. Missed, 'e'd 'ad one too many, just got me there."

Alex sighs sadly, bringing his palm up to her mouth and kissing the scar, smoothing her lips over it and smiling as Gene reaches down to stroke her back, lying back down and closing his eyes, desperate to stay there, away from the tumult of Ada's death for another ten minutes. The phone rings next to his ear, making him jump off the bed and swear loudly as it bursts into life; Alex reaches out to pull him into a hug as she answers.

"Hello?"

"Ma'am?"

Ray's careful voice comes through the phone; he is evidently trying not to step in something. By this time, Alex reasons, Gene's "breakdown" must have travelled through the station.

"Is the Guv there?"

"Yes, he is, Ray. Is there a problem?"

Ray pauses.

"Er, no, but 'e needs ter get down 'ere an' you do as well. Been re-instated on the case fer bravery an' makin' the arrest, I think the Super was just respondin' ter our threat about tellin' 'is wife the address of 'is ladyfriend though. Only the Chief Super wants ter talk ter 'im, make sure 'e's fit fer service."

Alex shakes her head, seeing Gene's dumbstruck expression in the corner of her eye.

"He's fit for service, for God's sake. Losing a friend doesn't make you an invalid. Look, we're coming in now, OK?"

She slams the phone down, her nose pinched with anger as she turns to Gene and grabs his jacket from the bed, slinging it over his shoulders herself and picking up his limp arms, dressing him like she would a child. He lets her without comment, just watching, revelling privately in the feel of her fingers on his body. Just for a second, her hand clutches his and she leans forwards to kiss his chin, her eyes meeting his as she draws back and gently pushes him towards the door.

"Go on, Gene. The Chief Super calls."

"Bloody 'ell, been invited ter the palace now, 'ave I?"

Alex laughs.

"Not quite, but you may as well have been. You'd better get ready."

Her eyes linger on his creased clothing, his undone tie and sock-covered feet. Gene self-consciously reknots the tie.

"Your boots are by the door. Go home, get changed. I'll be waiting outside your place."

She is reluctant to leave him on his own, not knowing what he might do; not exactly insanity, but she knows he is pig-headed at the best of times and downright stupid at the worst. He sits down on the arm of her sofa, smoothing his shirt and trousers out and walking over to grab his boots and tugging them on.

"What are you doing? You're only going home."

Gene shakes his head, looking up at her.

"Bolls, I appreciate everythin' yer've done fer me, but I am a big boy now, I need ter stand on my own two feet. I'll go an' talk wi' the Chief Super."

Alex frowns, quietly thinking over how she's been. Has she been over-protective of him? Has she begun to suffocate him?

_He's right, Alex. Let him do what he wants. He's an independent adult. He's not Molly._

As her mind brings Molly up, she has to choke back tears; Gene stops abruptly at the noise, one foot half into his boot, his hair dishevelled as he looks up at her through it.

"Bolly?"

It's no use. Within a couple of seconds Alex is bawling, the stress and sadness of the last few days and her time in the 80s pouring out onto her cheeks as Gene leaps up to hold her close, whispering sweet nothings into her hair as she clings to him like a dying woman clutching her lifebelt, feeling his hands stroking up and down her back and easing her down to sit on the arm of the sofa, warm from his body.

"Oh... oh, Gene, I'm s-sorry, I'm j-just..."

"Shush," Gene tells her firmly, wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, dropping a chaste kiss on the top of her head. "Yer stay 'ere, Bolly, stay 'ere until yer feel up ter comin' in, OK? Yer OK, Bolls, love, yer OK. Come 'ere."

He picks her up again, holding her close, feeling her lips nuzzling at his as he carries her through into the bedroom and eases her onto the bed, letting himself kiss her for a few miraculous seconds and then drawing back.

"Yer got a radio, I've got mine in the Quattro. I'll keep it wi' me, if yer need anythin' just tell me, yeah?"

Alex nods, a smile on her face as she grasps his hand for a second and then lets it go. Something tells her that they are back to how they should be: him the caregiver, looking out for her, her the supportive DI, keeping him in line, reassuring him.

Gene stands up, standing taller than he has for a while, and heads out, something new around him as he guns the Quattro's engine and skids off towards his house.

* * *

"I want to come back to England."

"Then stow away."

Ada laughed in Romania; Gene allowed himself a smile in England.

"I mean it. Simu has changed, he is not the man I married. I miss you, I miss England, and I miss my youth, my freedom."

"Comin' back 'ere won' turn time back, Ada."

"I would love to come back in time for the Coronation."

Gene shrugged; his epaulettes scratched against the shell of the phone to mark the movement, the smartly-cut 6620 badges sparkling in the light from the window.

"Lots o' people makin' a lot o' fuss about it, but I dunno. Just parties, an' 'owever much I might enjoy throwin' one up some tart too pissed ter remember my name, I could be doin' better things in my first week on the beat."

His pride at having made the Force infused every word. Ada smiled, one finger gently caressing the picture of him as a young child that she had brought with her, holding out a warrant card as she clapped in the background and the people around them smiled.

"I don't know, surely you can enjoy it," Ada teased, grinning as she heard him huff down the line. He'd complained to her about his mother's constant nagging about him finding a wife now that he had a job, and although he knew it was just because Stu had gone so badly off the rails it didn't make it any better to deal with.

"I'm tryin' ter get noticed, get out o' the uniform."

Only after he said it did he notice the connotations. Ada convulsed in laughter.

"Oh, Gene... you just need to work hard. It's a night of keeping drunks in line and splitting up fights. Not too hard for an outstanding copper like yourself, surely?"

"Last time I got inter a fight wi' a drunk, they gave me a black eye," Gene muttered. "Yer never know what they're goin' ter do next."

"Then pin them up against a wall before they can do anything," Ada laughed, imagining his look on the other end of the line. His face was blurred in her imagination, however; she hadn't seen him for a good year, he would have changed, become older, more mature, learnt more than the ropes of life. Gene sighed.

"Less about that. 'Ow do I stop my mum tellin' me ter get married?"

"Try getting married."

"Oh, great."

"Calm down. Sometimes it turns out better."

"What, than my mum and dad's? I don' wan' ter become a mindless drunk wi' nothin' better ter do than beat 'is wife an' kids up, thanks."

"And who says you will? Marriage can be a blessing as well as a curse, Gene."

Something crashed behind her and she jumped, catching the phone on something hard as she swerved round.

"Gene, I have to go, Simu's looking for me. I'm in a friend's house."

"OK. Bye."

A whisper of "goodbye, Gene Genie" came down the line, and then the smooth purr of the disconnection. Gene sighed, dropping the set back onto the cradle and leaning back against the lounge wall, feeling the dent from his own twelve-year-old head on it and banishing the memories as soon as they came up.

He badly wanted to help Ada. He knew only too well how it felt to be trapped in a violent household with nowhere to go but more bloodshed, the barriers put up by the people who should love you the most. But she was in Romania, what felt like a million miles away, and he now had other responsibilities- his mother, his job, his brother- and no idea how he would ever help someone so far away.

Maybe he could go there, bring her back to England?

He smiled at the thought, but knew that it was probably impossible. Getting her away from Simu would be complicated, she would have nowhere to go when she got to England, no money, and no job. Her parents had come over with a nest egg fund to get them going: Ada would have no such luxuries, and he wasn't going to take her out of Romania just to leave her on the streets of England with nowhere and nothing.

All the same, a hard weight of hopelessness sank into his stomach as he imagined Ada with Simu, his fierce anger, his merciless fists, the screwed up face of hatred he had seen so many times himself. The statue of Christ on the mantelpiece stared down at him, and he scowled at it, standing up and facing it, his eyes as hard as flint.

"If yer love us all, God, why d'yer let people like Ada get 'urt by the people 'oo should take care of 'em? Why did yer let Stu get 'ooked on drugs? An' why did yer let Dad become the way 'e was?"

For a second he stood there, half expecting some divine answer to stream down into his ears from the heavens, for the statue to ask for a pen and paper to write the answers down for him. But nothing came. The room stayed still and silent, and Christ's painted eyes remained downcast, his expression full of sorrow.

The impulse to throw him through the window swamped Gene for a second before he clenched his fists at his side to stop himself, glaring at the statue, the hopelessness in his stomach turning into a thick, hard knot of anger.

"WHY DID YER SCREW THIS WORLD UP?" he yelled at the statue, kicking the fireplace as he turned and ran up to his room, his reflection in the mirror by his bed catching him short. He watched as his breathing slowed, the black uniform sliding back into place, resting gently on his chest, rising and falling with his lungs. His slicked-back hair and the shining epaulettes had felt like a part of him ever since he had first donned them, but now it felt like a shadow on his body, something almost unreal.

Pulling the clothing off and sitting down on the bed, Gene took in his own skinny body, looking over the many battle scars adorning his flesh, some clear, some faded, mismatched to the memories. His hand reached instinctively for the piece of shrapnel he kept in his bedside table; he frowned, snatching it back. No, he couldn't now. He was nineteen, he was an adult, with responsibilities. He couldn't go back to cutting his own arms open like an emotional teenager.

He took the shrapnel and hurled it out of the window. Then he collected the uniform up, put it on his bed and curled up underneath the covers, remembering the happy times in his life, Ada's beam and his own light laugh, the times before the storms.

* * *

"I'm told you knew Adriana very well."

The Chief Super's hands are folded on top of his desk, his eyes boring into Gene as he sits in front of him like a chastised teenager, a child in front of the headmaster's desk. Gene nods, not bothering to say any more.

"What was the nature of your relationship with her?"

"She was my friend. There was never anythin' vaguely romantic about it, sir."

"OK. I hope you understand that we cannot let emotions get in the way of a fair investigation here, Gene. By all means, take charge of your team, lead them on, gather what you need for the trial and such. But I will not stand for anything influenced by your feelings for Adriana, or anything unfair. I will be asking DI Drake to keep an eye on you, make sure everything is whiter than white with this. Do you understand me?"

Gene nods once, not meeting the Chief Super's eyes.

"DCI Hunt?"

He swerves up, looking straight into his superior's eyes, trying to summon the old Manc Lion who has taken such a battering recently.

"Yes, sir."

The Chief Super's eyebrows draw together in concern; he stands up, walking round the desk to put his hand on Gene's shoulder, trying to comfort him. Gene's body goes rigid beneath his hand and he sighs, withdrawing his fingers.

"We work as a team here, DCI Hunt. If you can't accept help from others, then that team will fall apart. I'm sure you can understand that. We're here if you need us."

"With all due respect, I think yer'll find I'm a big boy now, sir. I can look after myself."

"Very well, DCI Hunt. As long as you really can keep yourself in order. I'll let you get on with your investigation."

Gene nods, standing up and accepting the (normal) handshake from his superior. Thankful to be out of the room, he heads down to CID, head bent down slightly to keep his swollen eye from being too obvious, only opening one door when he reaches his department but drawing every eye all the same.

Alex is in the centre of the room, make-up expertly covering her reddened eyes as she turns to him, a smile curving her lips. He manages a twitch back, keeping it solely for her, moving to stand next to her and turning to address his team, feeling the familiar fire stoking in his stomach, beginning to flare.

"Well then. Are yer all familiar wi' the Ada Mironescu case?"

* * *

A/N: I hope nobody was offended with the religious references in this- if you were, I am very, very sorry. Please remember to review, and thank you for reading! Jazzola :)


	13. Chapter 13

The team are working diligently to a man, heads down, studying leads and evidence to put their case together as Alex and Shaz brainstorm and Gene listens in, inputting occasionally, his fists itching to go and kick the holy shit out of Mihai Mironescu. He lets himself drift off into his own thoughts as Alex begins talking psychology.

_Do all families turn ter shit?_

He's seen the happy-happy Christmas films about families, the smiling parents and beaming kids with hardly a care in the world. He's seen real-life families out having their Christmas meal, laughing and cuddling and closer than close, the bond almost visible between them.

But his own... if those families lived in bright white worlds, he'd lived in a murky black universe, with hope swallowed up by cruel words and hard fists every day. His mother whimpering in a corner, his brother screaming at him with his addict's eyes wide and desperate, his father frothing at the lips in his drink-induced fury, dispatching a blow that extinguishes Gene's world. And then Ada had had Simu. He wonders what became of the lying, violent bastard.

_'Opefully fell inter some deep, dark pit, wi' nobody ter bloody mourn fer 'im._

He remembers hazily Ada's wide, terrified eyes, stained with scarlet, the lashes congealed together with her life; for a second he has an urge to throw up, but hides it with a quick swallow. _Now is not the time ter be gettin' emotional. _The case file sitting innocently on Alex's desk catches his eye.

_Maybe?_

Only one way to find out.

Standing up, he reaches round to pick it up, his fingers ghosting over the flimsy brown cover for a second before picking the whole thing up, sheltering it in his hand as he heads into his office, making to draw the blinds. Alex watches him with wide eyes, giving Shaz a hasty excuse and hurrying after him.

"Gene? Gene!"

He doesn't pause, simply pulling the blinds across and walking slowly towards his desk, oblivious to the pain in his hip as he bangs into a sharp corner. The door is flung open behind him and Alex stands there, watching him as he opens the file and carefully forces himself to read.

The silence forces on for a couple of minutes. Gene focuses all his effort on the paper, blocking out his heart as carefully as he can; Alex is watching him incredulously, wondering if this man will ever stop surprising her.

"Gene, are you a masochist?"

The question is quiet. Gene barely glances up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he replies.

"No. Why?"

"You seem to love to torture yourself, you really do. You take everything on your own shoulders, you blame yourself for everything, and you force yourself to do things that aren't good for you in any way, shape or form. Why are you reading the file? You couldn't even look at it before. It could bring up a lot of things you'd prefer stayed buried."

"Well, I 'ave ter read it sooner or later. I'm not doin' this fer my own enjoyment, Bolls. I 'ave ter detach emotionally from the case. Best ter do it now."

Alex stands there for a moment, simply watching him, the way he looks at the file through half-closed eyes, as though his eyelids will defend him from some of the hurt the words bring.

_No. He will never stop surprising me._

She skirts round the desk, carefully avoiding the edge Gene's hip seemed to take a dislike to, and hugs him from behind, leaning her head on his shoulder and pulling him back from the file, gently taking it out of his hands.

"Bolly, what...?"

She spins his chair round and, to an accompany of wolf-whistles and cheers from outside, kisses him full on the lips, with all the passion she can muster.

Gene nearly topples off the chair.

"Having fun?"

The voice is mild, but there's a sarcastic undertone. Gene and Alex jerk back from each other, swerving round to see the Chief Super standing in the doorway.

"DCI Hunt. DI Drake. I didn't see that coming."

Gene looks down at his boots, internally cursing at being reduced to a teenager in front of his department. Alex glares at the Chief Super.

"Did you come in for anything specific, Sir?"

The Chief Super's smirk vanishes.

"Your Quattro, Gene. It's gone."

* * *

_Coronation Day. Halle-bloody-lujah._

Gene whistled tunelessly to himself as he smoothed his uniform self-consciously in the mirror, brushing dust from his epaulettes as the door opened and his mother walked in, smiling as she took her smart young son in. His reflection turned slightly, partially to get a better overall look, partially to talk to Mrs Hunt.

"Mum?"

"Yer mentor's 'ere. Said 'e wanted ter talk ter yer."

Gene abandoned his preening, hurrying down and grabbing his helmet to encounter his fellow officer in the kitchen.

"Sir?"

PC Morrison gave a slightly embarrassed laugh, slapping a glass of whisky back down onto the kitchen table.

"'Ow many times do I 'ave to tell yer, Gene, it's just Morris ter yer, same as ter any other officer in this force. Now, there's a party up in the old farm'ouse in Faringfield Green, yer know the place?"

Gene nodded.

"We're goin' up there ter keep an eye on the idiots drinkin' there. Should be able ter pull if yer careful wi' 'ow much yer drink," he added over his shoulder as he pulled the front door open, giving Gene a jaunty wink over his shoulder. Gene frowned.

"But I'll be on duty, s... Morris."

"Ah well," Morrison laughed, giving Gene a jovial pat on the shoulder as he held the door open for the young officer. Gene sighed, ducking under his mentor's arm and out onto the street.

"Technically yer on duty, Gene," Morrison said as they started out, Gene trotting next to him, trying to keep up with the brisk walk of the other copper. "But really, yer bein' payed ter go out an' 'ave a good time, eh? Doesn' get much better than this!"

Gene cast his eyes down, panting slightly at the effort of keeping up.

"If yer say so."

Morrison either didn't catch what Gene said, or deliberately ignored it.

"'Ere we go, then," he said as they approached the old farmhouse, yanking the door back to reveal a room filled with people.

A flash of thick Romanian-style fabric pervaded the dark behind Gene.

He coughed slightly as they moved into the room, into a thick haze of perfume and human stink, people packed together in the small rooms like sardines. Morrison laughed genially, pushing Gene towards the booze and grabbing a bottle for himself, grinning from ear to ear as he swigged it back and began partying with the locals, swinging his hips to whoops and applauding from the people clustered round him. Gene did a good job of blending into the shadows, slowly getting rid of a tumbler of scotch as his fellow policeman steadily moved from inebriated to drunk to paralytic.

Four hours later and PC Morrison was lying on the floor of the street outside Gene's house, eyes closed, breathing shallow. Gene had got fed up and headed out into the grounds to get some fresh air, encountering a boy he knew and having a brief chat and a smoke before slinking back in to find his fellow officer and the other coppers who'd come along to the party doing the conga out of the back door and away. They'd split up soon enough, some returning to the party, others making their unsteady way home. Morrison had simply collapsed where he stood as soon as the young floozy supporting him had vanished.

"Morris? Morris? Bloody 'ell, an' now I'll get it in the neck fer lettin' 'im. Bastard," he muttered, pulling Morrison into lying on his side and standing up, looking around for anyone else nearby. Nothing; the street was deserted. His mother would be celebrating with friends. God knew where Stu was.

_'Is own fault. Let 'im 'ave a night outside._

Gene stood up, aimed a mock kick at Morrison's back and walked away, quietly seething at the lack of professionalism that now meant he had to get through the rest of the night on his own.

A broad, worn smile watched him from the shadows, waiting to surprise him.

He headed the other way. The smile vanished, turned tail and hurried after him.

The house seemed deserted when Gene walked back in, only a couple of people still there, laughing on the floor. Gene sighed at them, quietly wondering whether he should have tried to get drunk like them to at least get some fun out of this night, but when they fell asleep and he was sat next to the drinks trying to distract himself something else caught his attention.

The sound of someone saying something in a low, soft voice drifted through from one of the other rooms; Gene stood up, barely sparing another glance for the young man and woman passed out on the rug, fingering his truncheon as he headed towards the noise, his heart suddenly thudding in his ears.

As though it knew its beats were running out.

Gene's hand reached out to the door, but then withdrew.

_Kick it down. Surprise 'em. It'll be kids messin' about. Yeah, the Gene Genie rammin' through the door like John Wayne, like the Western hero. Teach 'em._

He withdrew, going back a couple of paces, not seeing the flash of rugged brown skin as it peeked round the door.

"Police!"

His foot slammed into the door, satisfaction running through him as it buckled under his force, splitting in two and swinging round as he balanced himself again, holding his weapon up.

His eyes only just caught the flash of moonlight on the barrel as it swung round to find him.

And then all was confusion, and pain, and a young body sinking to the floor, blood flowing in a scarlet ocean from his head, his world turning crimson as the truncheon dropped from his lifeless hand onto the dull wood, a dead thud vibrating through the limp body of the young PC.

He just about managed to register someone breathing heavily nearby, the gun clattering to the floor next to him.

"What 'ave I done?"

_What 'ave I done?_

_What did 'e do?_

Gene gave a tiny gasp, his shattered consciousness ebbing away.

The young, saddened, shielded heart stuttered, clutched at itself, and ceased.

"GENE!"

The gun was snatched up by trembling hands, re-aimed, and lived again for a loud second.

A young woman, dressed in Romanian clothing, dropped to the rug, blood soaking through its pale fibres, dribbling onto a pale cloth handbag.

_My name is Ada Mironescu. I was shot and woke up with my murdered friend in 1953. Both of us forgot... just as everyone forgot us._

* * *

"WHERE IS MY BLOODY QUATTRO?"

Gene swears loudly, slamming his hand against the steering wheel of the Met car he'd unceremoniously "borrowed" to search for his own car. He and Alex have been most of the way around Fenchurch by now, searching down every alleyway, at every car park, storming into various places and demanding information. They'd only had one lead, for the Quattro heading towards the Hammers, and when they'd arrived there it had been deserted.

"Calm down, Gene, we'll find it," Alex soothes, putting her hand on his arm as he clutches the ugly leather steering wheel of the ancient Renault and glares out of the windscreen, his eyes narrowing as he clocks something, a lion on the hunt.

"Bolly. Right-'and side."

Alex looks, frowning.

"What?"

"Right-'and side," he repeats, turning his head a tiny amount, trying to be covert. Alex follows his gaze, making out she's brushing some flies off the curry stain on the dashboard, and catches a red gleam with someone in the front seat. Gene's seat.

"Bloody bastards aren't drivin' my Quattro," Gene hisses, shifting the car into gear and then reconsidering.

"She'll outrun us by a bloody country mile. Sneak up on 'em."

Gene eased himself out of the car, heading round to find the Quattro the long way; Alex mirrors him, making a sub-conscious pincer movement, the both of them in total synchronisation. For a moment she wonders when she became his alter ego, but she has little time to dwell on who really is in charge between them as Gene signals for her to go in and grab the keys from the ignition.

_Three, two, one._

They swoop in like a couple of fell eagles; Alex yanks the door open, grappling for the keys, but the sound of the voice from inside stops them both.

"DCI Hunt and DI Drake. What a good surprise."

Mihai Mironescu smiles up at them from Gene's seat, one hand on Alex's, the other fending Gene off as he grabs at him, face screwed up in pure anger as they tussle over the car and freedom.

"Thought you might drop by..."

The Quattro revs suddenly, Mihai's foot slamming down on the throttle and the accelerator; Alex leaps back, screaming as Gene jumps in, still fighting for control of the Quattro as it corners sharply, throwing him out and onto the verge. He rolls twice, something glinting in his hand, and then comes to a less than graceful halt, lying still.

"Gene!" Alex gasps, heading towards his lifeless form, but her attention is diverted by the Quattro slowing and stopping a few yards away, Mihai cursing as the doors automatically lock, Gene's auto-lock system coming in useful for pretty much the first time. _Woe betide any who try to steal the mighty Quattro._

Knowing that Mihai is going nowhere, Alex radioes for backup, running towards Gene and gently turning him over to find his eyes half-closed, the keys to the Audi clutched in his hand as though they were all he would ever need.

"Got 'em out," he croaks, looking up into Alex's eyes and attempting a smile. Alex beams, pulling him up into a hug, running her hands over his head to check for any injury. As far as she can tell, just a bang, but she's not taking chances.

"I'll be checking you over at the station," she tells him, ignoring his displeased huff as another car screams to a halt next to the Quattro and someone calls for the cutting equipment.

"OH NO YOU BLOODY DON'T, YER TOSSER!" Gene yells, pushing himself up and woozily heading towards his pride and joy, completely forgetting his injuries at the threat of someone cutting up the Quattro. Alex laughs, using the lamp post to get up and cursing her killer heels as she runs over to stop Gene doing anything stupid.

_Viv is going to get it in the neck when Gene gets back..._

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I hope you liked it! I wrote a haiku poem about Gene at a club the other day, by the way- do people want to see it on here? It's only 17 syllables, as with most haikus, but if people want it I'll post it. Thanks for reading! Jazzola :D


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: The last chapter is finally here! Please remember to review, and I hope you enjoyed it and the fic overall. Please, please review! Jazzola :)

* * *

_"Ow bloody ow!"_

"Keep still, you baby. It's just a bit of antiseptic."

"A bit o' poison, more like."

"Poison for any bacteria waiting to give you an infection," Alex swiftly counters as Gene jerks his head away from her fingers, trying to stand up and being pushed down again by her.

"Stay put or I'll tie you to the chair. And for God's sake no, that is not a promise," she adds as he opens his mouth, a little smirk making its way onto his face. "Shaz, have you got any scissors? I need to cut a bit of hair out of the way of the cut."

"No. No, no, no, Detective Inspector."

Gene knocks her hands away and gets to his feet, all but running out of the kitchenette before she can stop him. Alex allows herself a small smile, winking at Shaz as the young woman splutters with laughter.

"Ah, the vanity of the male species..."

"The way 'e reacted, you'd 'ave thought you were sayin' you were goin' to pierce 'is nipples," Shaz giggles, earning herself a burst of mirth from Alex.

"I think I'll leave the nipple piercing to the experts," she gasps, turning to put the first aid kit away and wiping a smear of blood from the table. Shaz peeks out to check where her DCI has gone, seeing the Super coming in and raising her eyebrows.

"Ma'am, the Super's out there."

"Thanks, Shaz," Alex says hurriedly, washing her hands and grabbing some hand towels on her way out, seeing Gene leaning against her desk to make sure the Super didn't notice the slight sway when he stood up.

"Sir?"

Gene turns to look at her, and she sees the darkness in his eyes. Despite the warmth in the room, she shivers slightly.

"DI Drake. I thought DCI Hunt might want to know."

The Super pauses.

"Mihai Mironescu slit his wrists on his way to prison on a piece of metal in the back of the van."

Alex has to grab Gene to stop her legs buckling beneath her. Somewhere through the haze of shock, she feels his arms winding round her, holding her up carefully.

"Is he..."

"Quite dead, I'm afraid, DI Drake. I'm sorry, I know it's not the outcome you were looking for."

"No... no, it's not," Alex replies, momentarily disorientated. Gene pulls her into a careful hug, still balancing on the desk; she rests her head on his shoulder, no longer caring about the eyes resting on them, simply searching for comfort, comfort from the man that, God save her, she loves.

In the corner of the room, one milky blue eye, filmed with death, crinkles with a smile before vanishing.

Gene bows his head, giving Alex a little squeeze, not meeting the eyes of the Super as he requests the rest of the day off for the department. The man grants it with a single nod of his head, dismissing the men and woman gathered round him with an almost careless sweep of his hand before moving forwards to force Gene's gaze onto him. The look in the stormy blue irises makes him want to break contact desperately, but being a man of authority he forces himself to keep looking.

"Gene, I think you need some time to come to terms with everything that's happened. I know you don't regard emotion as a reason for not working, but seriously, go home. Rest. Alright? Contact a counsellor if you want. It's for the best."

Gene bites his tongue to stop it lashing out a retort he'll regret, turning to Alex as she speaks suddenly, her voice loud in the deserted room, echoing back in staccato, like the rebound of a gunshot off dilapidated walls many years ago.

"Would I be allowed to go with him, sir? This case hasn't been the easiest, I think the senior members of CID all need a break, especially as we as a group were so closely involved with this whole event emotionally."

"Feel free, Drake."

The Super simply nods once more, feeling more and more like he's intruding with every passing second. The feeling grows as Gene draws out his hip flask and Alex snatches it away from him, downing the whole thing herself to stop him having it and gasping at the sting, drawing a small smile from the man next to her. He slips off silently; from the way Gene and Alex are looking at each other, he doubts they've even noticed.

"Come on," Alex says after a while, luxuriating in the feel of Gene's protective embrace around her body, giving his arm a stroke as he leans against her slightly, trying and failing to not show that he needs her hold on him as much as she needs his. He knows this will have changed both of them forever, this experience, and for now he has no clue whether it has changed them for better or for worse, but will just have to wait to find out. Alex shakes him from his thoughts again. "Who's driving?"

Her hand snakes into his pocket, and his breath catches in his throat for a second, his body naturally reacting to the feel of her skin on his- but when her fingers come out clutching his car keys he yelps, grabbing at her, wrapping her in a bear hug as she squirms to try and get away, both of them managing to laugh as they tussle over the little gleaming bundle wrapped securely in Alex's grasp.

The blue eye blinks slowly, sleepily, as though fading in death, as though it no longer belongs in this world.

As Alex turns to press her lips to Gene's, the car keys in their shared grasp, it closes, turning to join a nut brown eye a little way away, already closed, a single tear seeping from beneath the thick lashes as both leave.

* * *

_A week later_

"Ambidextrous."

"Writes wi' both 'ands."

"Has no dominant hand, can perform complex tasks such as writing, painting and assembling with either hand."

Gene pouts.

"So I got it right!"

"Alright."

Alex notches a point on the board next to Gene's name, sitting down on the edge of her desk and wrapping herself in Gene's coat as he drapes it over her shoulders, both of them tranquil and relaxed in the silence of early-morning CID. Recently they have got into the habit of sneaking into the room to do whatever takes their fancy in the early hours, playing games on the board, rearranging the mugs in the kitchenette for a laugh and reading through files to have a look at recent cases, occasionally leaving notes to help them along. Neither really knows why they feel so comfortable in CID, but every time they see the checkerboard floor and tacky strip lighting and smell the stale cigarette smoke and human scent their hearts lift.

"You'd think they'd leave the heating on. They know we come here."

"Do they?"

Gene perches on Shaz's desk, looking ten years younger in scruffy jeans and an ancient Manchester City jumper, his crocodile boots replaced by battered trainers. Alex holds up a note lodged in one of the recent case files, in Shaz's neat italic handwriting, a huge contrast to Gene's scrawl next to it: _"Thanks, Guv, but how did you get hold of the file?"_

Gene smirks at it, taking it and reading for himself as Alex puts her arms into the Crombie coat and sits down next to him, feeling his arm snake round her waist instinctively and smiling as he pulls her closer. _Now I know how he managed to marry... inside, Gene Hunt is just a lonely man looking for someone he can trust. _It hurts that one day she might have to leave him to go back to Molly, but for now she is content to wait. Que sera, sera.

"She only knows I got the file. Might not know we come in 'ere at three in the bastard mornin'."

Despite Gene's frequent complaints about the time, Alex knows he wouldn't stay at home and sleep at this time anymore. The couple of times they've tried to get a decent night's sleep they've been antsy within minutes of trying to settle; both have a thirst for the job they do, one that is not quelled by simply staying at home. Alex, acting as Gene's counsellor, knows it's better for him to be somewhere familiar than just sitting idly at home all the time; better he is kept occupied and happy than just gets stressed sitting at home with nothing to do.

"Maybe I'll tell her, so she can leave some stuff here for us."

"She's a smart girl, she'll figure it out," Gene says unconcernedly, prising the file from Alex's hands and slotting the note back in, deliberately putting it on Shaz's chair so she knows they've been again. Alex smirks as she imagines some of the dimmer DCs having thoughts about a ghost in CID; from what she's heard said in Luigi's about the overnight movements, she wouldn't be at all surprised.

"Yer goin' ter wipe the board off?"

"Nope. Your turn."

Gene cocks his head to one side.

"Dirge."

"A what?"

"Dirge, Bolly-Kecks. A dirge."

Alex frowns, looking round the room as though it will hold the answer in a grimy corner, seeing the smile pulling at Gene's lips.

"I honestly don't know, Gene."

"A short song, Bolly. Typical of a bard."

"That is mean, Hunt. You deliberately picked a word you knew I would have no clue about."

"Thought that was the rules o' the game?" he grins, wiping out one of Alex's points. The board pen is abruptly whipped from his hands and he feels a tickle on the back of his hand, looking down to find Alex writing something along his arm, pushing the jumper up to access more skin.

"Those are bloody 'ard ter get off, Bolly."

"I'll give them a good rub in the shower tonight, then."

"I've got somethin' else I'd rather yer were rubbin'," he says cheekily, just catching her exasperated sigh but seeing the smile creeping up on her mouth in the mingled moonlight and dimmed street lighting seeping into the room.

"There we go," she says happily, drawing back and letting Gene see what she's written.

"I found your doodle. Kitchenette?"

His eyes bulge as he remembers that particular doodle; Alex laughs, taking it out of her pocket and holding it up. Excitingly for Alex, something else on Gene's body begins to bulge too.

And then it's a blur until they are pressed against each other, closer than close, Gene's moans mingling with Alex's gasps and squeals as they rock together, flesh warm, touches electric...

As they both shriek in the dappled light, she thanks the world that she has found herself here, with Gene, and that he has let her in, that she has won his trust. His gentle arms carry her out to the Quattro and she snuggles into his body, exhausted from their activities, a smile on her face as his lips press to her forehead and she is lowered into the front passenger seat.

The two ghosts of Fenchurch East leave.

* * *

_Several weeks later_

"Andy Wren. Small-time drug dealer, now appears to be following Simon Neary and trying to get hold of guns. He doesn't know we have the gun dealer locked up. What I suggest is sending in an officer pretending to be the dealer, who Wren doesn't yet know, and then arresting him when the guns have changed hands. Guv?"

Gene surveys the room calmly, looking over several people before nodding to Terry.

"Yer a dead spit fer our gun dealer, DC Terence. Get yerself tooled up."

Terry heads out into the evidence room to get the clothing nicked from the drug dealer, turning back to cheekily ask DI Drake if she'll do his wire for him and all but running out of the room as Gene stands up, thunder on his face.

"The rest of yer, get armed an' in position, OK?" he growls as Terry disappears as fast as he can along the corridor. "Second 'e 'as the guns, we nick 'im."

Alex leans against her desk, watching as Gene stalks into his office, taking a long swig of whisky as he picks up his gun and loads it, spinning the barrel and holding it up to let the sleek metal catch the light, glinting palely in the cool winter sun. He catches her eye, motioning with a jerk of his head to the filing cabinet in the corner, where his doodle is stored; she winks at him, turning to pick up her coat and sashaying more than is strictly necessary, watching his face lighting up at her wordless promise.

Night has fallen as the assembled police officers wait for Wren to come and bite, Terry standing in position next to a clapped-out Volvo, leaning against a wall smoking with the guns in a box next to him, disguised as a briefcase. Gene is snoozing next to Alex in the Quattro, Chris, Shaz and Ray playing darts with a piece of Blu-Tack on the back of his seat (and Shaz beating both by a country mile, much to their annoyance) and Alex trying and failing to entertain herself by playing one-person I-Spy and reminiscing about the future.

The radio next to Gene crackles, signalling the start of the encounter; Gene wakes with a jerk, rubbing his hands over his mouth as Alex holds it up, motioning for Chris and Ray to be quiet.

"You got what I want?"

"Yeah."

"As many as I said?"

"Check for yourself."

Alex holds her breath, praying that Wren doesn't suspect anything; there is a rustle, a click, and then a small noise of appreciation, and the butterflies in her guts began to land.

"Very nice."

Gene looks out of the window, mentally yelling at Terry not to screw this up, envisaging the scene out there right now: Terry acting the part of the seedy gun dealer, Wren examining the firearms in the suitcase, perhaps noticing movement in the corner of his eye, possibly aware that something was happening around him...

A flash of thick brown hair makes Gene catch his breath.

As he looks, a woman wearing Romanian-style clothing, a simple pastel-coloured cloth handbag hanging from her slim shoulder, her nut-brown eyes flashing kindly at him, walks away.

Within seconds he is scrambling out of the car, running haphazardly towards the woman as Alex yells his name after him, the three detectives in the back staring with wide eyes and gaping mouths as their DI hurtles after their DCI.

Gene runs and runs, seemingly always one step behind the woman, pushing through a crowd and stopping just behind the woman as she stands outside a dilapidated old pub, peeling red paint and ugly dull lettering giving an illegible name. The woman turns, and her eyes meet Gene's, her broad, familiar smile warming him from the inside out.

"Goodbye, Gene Genie," she says softly, the Romanian accent lacing each syllable, gentle and happy, years of adoration and friendship in her face as she reaches out to grasp Gene's hand and press it to her heart, pulling him into a hug and then turning away, reaching towards the pub door handle.

As soon as she touches it, it becomes The Railway Arms, proudly blue, bright lighting spilling through the dusty windows; Ada smiles, her hand gently trailing out of Gene's grasp as she opens the door and steps through, smiling back at Gene as it closes behind her, sliding shut slowly and returning to the previous pub, tacky and sad.

Gene stands for a minute, staring at the door of the pub, his hand still awkwardly outstretched. A panting in his ear makes him turn slightly, and he sees his DI standing next to him, her eyes wide, clutching the police radio.

"Gene, what- you just- ran off?"

"I saw 'er," he murmurs, turning back to the pub as though Ada will step out of it at any second. "I saw 'er goin' inter the Railway Arms."

Alex looks round at the pub, to her just an old, ugly building at the end of the street, and then back at him, moving forwards to gently take his hand in hers, stroking the back with her thumb and sliding both their arms round his back so that she is holding him close.

"We got Wren just after you hared off, they're taking him back to the station," she says quietly. "They'll be wondering where we are."

She gently pulls him away from the pub, his stumbling feet reluctantly falling into line, her arm still wrapped round him. He barely speaks until they are back at the Quattro, and only then to make up a story about seeing a shoplifter and running after them but losing them. Nobody says any more, simply accepts the story, heading back to the station with Wren yelling various crude insults from the back of the police van.

Somewhere through the daze, Gene feels tranquil, almost rested; his hip flask sits untouched in his pocket, the cigarettes beside it unneeded.

Knowing that Ada is finally at peace is the best intoxicant he could ever have had.


End file.
